$B    317    5bE 


EX    LIBRIS 

THE    UNIVERSITY 

OF    CALIFORNIA 


FROM  THE  FUND 

ESTABLISHED  AT  YALE 

IN  1927  BY 

WILLIAM  H.  CROCKER 

OF  THE  CLASS  OF  1882 

SHEFFIELD  SCIENTIFIC  SCHOOL 

YALE  UNIVERSITY     $ /  if. 


LES  TRQP^EE§ 

JOSi-MARIA  DE   HEREDIA 


THE   SONNETS 

Translated  by 
Henry  Johnson 


NEW  HAVEN,   CONNECTICUT 

gale  WLnibtxXitp  $re<ss 
1910 


COPYBIGHT,  1910 
BY 

HENRY  JOHNSON 


All  rights  reserved 


Josfc-Maria  de  Heredia,  one  of  the  most  eminent 
recent  poets,  a  member  of  the  French  Acad- 
emy, was  born  November  22,  1842  in  Cuba,  at 
Fortuna-Cafeyere  near  the  City  of  Santiago.  His 
family  traces  a  direct  descent  from  one  of  the  early 
Spanish  discoverers  of  America.  He  was  still  a 
youth  when  he  went  to  France,  where  he  was  to  re- 
ceive his  education,  first,  at  the  College  de  St.  Vin- 
cent in  Senlis.  He  then  passed  a  year  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  Havana,  and  returning  to  France  followed 
the  professional  training  of  an  archivist  in  the  6cole 
des  Chartes  in  Paris.  The  success  of  these  studies 
was  proved  by  a  scholarly  translation,  with  notes,  of 
the  Spanish  discoverer,  Bernal  Diaz  del  Castillo's 
History  of  the  Conquest  of  New  Spain.  This  work 
was  published  in  four  volumes  in  1878-1887.  His 
scrupulous  care  and  brilliant  prose  style  appeared 
also  in  another  translation  from  the  Spanish,  of  a 
brief  narrative,  La  Nonne  Alfarez,  made  public  in 
1894. 

As  a  poet  Heredia  was  not  known  to  the  great 
public  prior  to  the  issue  in  1892,  in  his  fiftieth  year, 
of  Les  Trophies,  a  volume  of  sonnets  together  with 


64G639 


other  poems  of  a  descriptive  nature.  Like  many  an 
artist  of  long-trained  technical  power,  to  whose  skill 
the  expressed  approval  or  disapproval  of  the  un- 
trained public  could  make  no  addition,  and  whose 
springs  of  ambition  flowed  in  their  own  fulness  within 
himself,  Heredia  never  courted  a  wide  fame,  but 
wrote  and  published  at  long  intervals,  in  the  Revue 
des  Deux  Mondes  and  elsewhere,  poetry  which  a 
few  had  understood  and  duly  prized. 

His  literary  affiliation  is  chiefly  with  the  poet 
Leconte  de  Lisle,  of  whom  he  was  an  ardent  dis- 
ciple, and  to  whom,  on  pages  following  a  most  affec- 
tionate dedication  of  Les  Trophees  to  his  deceased 
mother,  he  addressed  a  preliminary  epistle.  Here- 
dia* s  indebtedness  to  his  master  is  for  exemplifica- 
tion of  the  principles  of  the  poetic  art  seriously  con- 
ceived, and  for  insistence  on  the  best  literary  work- 
manship, founded  on  exacting  standards.  His  own 
powerful  originality  appeared  in  the  wide  range  of 
subjects,  and  their  thoroughly  modern,  almost  eru- 
dite treatment;  and  even  more  prominently,  in  a 
rich,  pictorial  style,  handled  with  distinguished 
clarity  and  firmness. 

His  election  to  membership  in  the  French  Acad- 
emy in  1894  followed  the  publication  of  Les 
Trophees.  His  selection  as  the  official  poet  to 
honor  the  Emperor  Alexander  III  of  Russia,    and 


his  appointment  in  1901  as  Administrator  of  the 
Library  of  the  Arsenal,  next  to  the  National  Library 
the  most  important  in  France,  have  given  wider 
public  knowledge  of  the  Academician  and  profes- 
sional archivist;  but  Heredia's  great  gift  to  litera- 
ture remains  his  noblest  title  to  fame.  His  death 
occurred  in  October,  1905. 


CONTENTS 
GREECE  AND  SICILY 


OBLIVION 

3 

HERCULES  AND  THE  CENTAURS 

5 

NEMEA        

7 

STYMPHALUS        . 

8 

NESSUS 

9 

THE  CENTAURESS           . 

IO 

CENTAURS  AND  LAPITHAE     . 

ii 

FLIGHT  OF  CENTAURS 

12 

THE    BIRTH    OF   APHRODITE 

13 

JASON    AND    MEDEA 

14 

THE  THERMODON        .... 

15 

ARTEMIS  AND  THE  NYMPHS 

17 

ARTEMIS                   .... 

19 

THE    CHASE            .... 

20 

NYMPHAEUM        .... 

21 

PAN 

22 

THE    BATH    OF   THE    NYMPHS 

23 

THE   VASE 

25 

ARIADNE 

26 

VII 


CONTENTS 


BACCHANAL    ROUT      . 
A   GOD'S   AWAKING 
THE   SORCERESS 
THE   SPHINX      . 
MARSYAS 

PERSEUS  AND  ANDROMEDA 

ANDROMEDA   AND   THE    MONSTER 
PERSEUS   AND   ANDROMEDA 
ANDROMEDA    BORNE   AWAY 

EPIGRAMS  AND  BUCOLICS 

THE    GOATHERD 

THE   SHEPHERDS 

VOTIVE    EPIGRAM 

FUNERARY    EPIGRAM 

THE   SHIPWRECKED 

THE    PRAYER   OF   THE    DEAD 

THE   SLAVE 

THE    HUSBANDMAN       . 

TO    HERMES    CRIOPHOROS 

THE   DEAD    GIRL 

REGILLA 

THE    RUNNER 

THE    CHARIOTEER 

ON  OTHRYS 


27 
28 
29 
30 
31 

33 
35 
36 
37 
39 
4i 
42 

43 

44 

45 
46 

47 
48 

49 
5o 
5i 
52 
53 
54 


VIII 


CONTENTS 


ROME  AND  THE  BARBARIANS 


PAGE 


FOR   VIRGIL'S   SHIP    .... 

57 

THE    COUNTRY    HOME 

58 

THE   FLUTE        

59 

TO   SEXTIUS 

60 

HORTORUM  DEUS      . 

61 

I.       APPROACH    NOT  ! 

63 

II.     RESPECT,    0   TRAVELER 

64 

III.   HALLO,    THERE      . 

65 

IV.    COME    IN  !     . 

66 

V.     HOW  cold!           .          . 

67 

THE   TEPIDARIUM        .... 

69 

TRANQUILLUS 

70 

LUPERCUS            

7i 

THE   TREBBIA                 .... 

72 

AFTER    CANNAE             .... 

73 

TO    ONE    CELEBRATING    HIS   TRIUMPH 

74 

ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA       . 

75 

THE    CYDNUS       .... 

77 

THE    EVENING   AFTER   THE    BATTLE 

78 

\J  ANTONY   AND    CLEOPATRA   . 

79 

EPIGRAPHIC  SONNETS      . 

81 

THE    VOW               .... 

83 

THE   SPRING        .             .             .            .             . 

84 

THE    BEECH    GOD 

85 

IX 


CONTENTS 


TO    THE    DIVINE    MOUNTAINS 
THE    EXILE 


PAGE 
86 
87 


THE  MIDDLE  AGES  AND 
THE  RENAISSANCE 


STAINED    GLASS 

. 

91 

EPIPHANY             ...... 

92 

THE    CARPENTER   OF    NAZARETH 

93 

MEDALLION 

94 

THE    RAPIER 

95 

PETRARCAN         

96 

ON    "LE    LIVRE    DES    AMOURS"    OF 

PIERRE   DE    RONSARD                                                        97 

THE   BEAUTIFUL   VIOLE 

,             .             .                98 

EPITAPH 

99 

IN    VELLUM,    GILT      . 

100 

THE    DOGARESSA 

IOI 

PONTE   VECCHIO 

102 

THE   OLD    GOLDSMITH 

103 

THE   SWORD 

104 

TO    CLAUDIUS    POPELIN 

105 

ENAMEL    . 

106 

DREAMS    OF    ENAMEL 

107 

CONTENTS 


THE  CONQUERORS    . 

THE    CONQUERORS 

FOUNTAIN    OF   YOUTH 

THE    CONQUEROR'S    TOMB    . 

CAROLO    QUINTO    IMPERANTE 

THE   ANCESTOR 

TO   THE    FOUNDER   OF   A    CITY.    I 

TO   THE    FOUNDER   OF   A    CITY.    II. 

TO  A  DEAD  CITY 


PAGE 
IO9 
III 
112 

113 
114 

115 
Il6 
117 
Il8 


THE  ORIENT  AND  THE  TROPICS 
THE  VISION  OF  KHEM. 


I.       NOON              .... 

121 

II.     THE    ROUND,   RESPLENDENT  MOON 

122 

III.  AND   STILL   THE    CROWD 

I23 

THE   PRISONER              . 

125 

THE   SAMURAI 

126 

THE   DAIMIO       .... 

I27 

FLOWERS    OF   FIRE      . 

128 

CENTURY    FLOWER     . 

I29 

THE    CORAL   REEF       . 

13° 

NATURE  AND  DREAM 


ANCIENT    MEDAL 
THE   FUNERAL   RITES 


133 
134 


XI 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE   VINTAGE 1 35 

THE   SIESTA 

I36 

THE  SEA  OF  BRITTANY 

137 

A    PAINTER 

139 

BRITTANY 

140 

FLORIDUM    MARE 

141 

SETTING   SUN      . 

142 

MARIS   STELLA    . 

143 

THE   BATH 

144 

CELESTIAL   BLAZONRY 

145 

ARMOR 

146 

RISING   TIDE 

147 

SEA    BREEZE 

148 

THE    CONCH        .... 

149 

THE    BED              .... 

I50 

THE    EAGLE'S    DEATH 

151 

PLUS    ULTRA     .... 

I52 

THE    LIFE    OF   THE    DEAD    . 

153 

TO   THE   TRAGEDIAN    E.    ROSSI 

154 

MICHELANGELO 

155 

ON    A    BROKEN    STATUE 

156 

GREECE 
AND 

SICILY 


OBLIVION. 

A  ruined  temple  crowns  the  headland's  height; 
Here  Death  has  mingled  marble  Goddesses 
And  bronzen  Heroes  in  one  tawny  earth, 
'  Neath  the  lone  sod  their  glory  burying : 
Only  the  herdsman  with  his  buffaloes, 
His  dark  form  reared  against  the  boundless  blue, 
Sometimes  breathes  from  his  conch  an  ancient  strain 
That  fills  this  quiet  air  far  o'er  the  sea. 
A  gentle  mother  to  the  Gods  of  old, 
The  Earth  will  bind  the  capitals  each  spring 
With  fresh  acanthus,  vainly  eloquent; 
But  Man,  indifferent  to  the  fathers'  dreams, 
Hears  without  shuddering,  in  the  deep,  calm  night, 
The  Sea  bemoan  in  tears  her  Sirens  lost. 


HERCULES 
AND 

THE  CENTAURS 


NEMEA. 

Since  the  Subduer  went  within  the  wood, 
Following  the  awful  footprints  on  the  soil, 
A  single  roar  betokened  their  embrace, 
Then  silence;  and  the  sinking  sun  was  set. 
By  fallow,  briar  and  thicket  fleeing  on 
Toward  Tiryns  the  affrighted  shepherd  runs, 
And,  turning,  sees  with  eyes  strained  wide  in  fear 
The  great  wild  beast  rise  at  the  forest's  edge. 
He  shouts;  he  sees  against  the  bloody  sky 
Nemea's  terror  show  his  armed  jaws, 
His  flying  mane  and  his  ill-boding  fangs, 
Where  larger  in  the  deepening  twilight  stands 
Great  Hercules  wearing  the  horrid  skin, 
A  monstrous  hero,  mingled  man  and  beast. 


STYMPHALUS. 

As  down  the  muddy  slope  the  Hero  passed, 
The  birds  by  thousands  rose  up  everywhere 
And  flew  before  him  like  a  gust  of  wind 
Out  o'er  the  lake,  whose  mournful  waters  tossed; 
Others  with  lower  flight  in  netted  lines 
Brushed  nigh  the  brow  that  Omphale  had  kissed; 
Then,  fitting  the  proud  arrow  to  the  string, 
Superb  the  Archer  stepped  forth  in  the  reeds. 

And  down  from  the  affrighted  cloud,  shot  through, 
There  fell  with  strident  cries  a  direful  rain, 
Which  murderous  flashes  streaked  with  lines  of  fire. 
At  length  the  sun  looked  down  athwart  the  clouds 
His  flashing  arrows  pierced,  on  Hercules 
All  bloody,  smiling  at  the  great,  blue  sky. 


NESSUS. 

When  I  with  brothers  lived  as  one  of  them 
And  like  them  knew  no  better  fate  nor  worse, 
Thessalian  mountains  were  my  boundless  realm, 
Their  icy  torrents  laved  my  ruddy  coat.    . 
In  sunlight  grew  I,  shapely,  happy,  free; 
Only  at  times,  in  air  my  nostrils  sniffed, 
Would  come  the  warm  scent  of  Epirot  mares 
And  make  me  restless,  as  I  ran,  or  slept. 
But  since  I  saw  the  spouse  in  triumph  smile 
In  the  Stymphalian  bowman's  arms,  my  mane 
Will  bristle  in  my  harrowing  desire, 
Because  some  god,  accursed  be  his  name! 
Has  mingled  in  the  hot  blood  of  my  loins 
A  stallion's  fire  with  love  which  sways  a  man. 


THE  CENTAURESS. 

Till  now  through  wood,  by  rock  and  stream,  through  dale, 
Strayed  the  proud  troop  of  Centaurs  numberless; 
Upon  their  flanks  sunlight  and  shadow  played, 
Their  dark  manes  streaming  o'er  our  flaxen  coats. 
In  vain  bloom  summer  meads;  we  tread  them  now 
Alone;  the  cave  deserted,  clogged  with  brush. 
Betimes  I  fall  to  shuddering  in  the  warm, 
Dark  night  to  hear  the  distant  stallions'  call. 

For  day  by  day  is  growing  less  the  race 

Of  the  prodigious,  cloud-engendered  sons; 

They  leave  our  love  for  woman's,  madly  sought. 

Their  love  for  us  debases  us  to  brutes, 

And  wrests  from  us  the  neighing  of  the  mare, 

For  they  desire  in  us  the  beast  alone. 


10 


CENTAURS  AND  LAPITHAE. 

The  wedding  guests  rushed  headlong  to  the  feast, 
Centaurs  and  warriors,  drunken,  bold  and  grand, 
And  flesh  of  heroes  in  the  torches'  glare 
Shone  'mid  the  glowing  coats  of  cloud-born  sons. 
Laughter  and  shouts! — A  cry  ! — The  Spouse  defiled 
In  tattered  purple  wards  the  black  breast  off; 
The  brazen  trumpet  calls  to  the  shock  of  hoofs 
Amid  wild  clamor  by  the  broken  board. 
Then  he  by  whom  the  tallest  is  a  dwarf 
Stands  up.     Above  him  glares  the  lion's  head, 
Bristling  with  yellow  hair.     'Tis  Hercules. 
At  once  through  that  vast  hall  from  end  to  end, 
Quelled  by  those  dreaded  eyes  of  blazing  wrath, 
The  monstrous  troop,  snorting  with  rage,  recoils. 


ii 


FLIGHT  OF  CENTAURS. 

With  murder  and  rebellion  wild,  they  flee 
To  safe  retreat  among  the  craggy  hills; 
Fright  drives  them  headlong,  for  they  feel  Death  near, 
And  on  the  night  air  sniff  the  lion's  scent. 
Trampling  the  lizard  and  the  snake,  they  cross 
Ravines  and  torrents,  thickets,  unrestrained; 
And  now  they  see  lift  up  their  crests  afar 
Ossa,  Olympus  and  dark  Pelion. 

Betimes  one  of  the  affrighted  rout  will  rear 

To  turn  and  look;  then  with  a  single  bound 

Will  join  again  his  brothers  of  the  herd; 

For  he  with  agonized  distress  has  seen 

The  dazzling  full  moon  stretch  behind  them  long 

The  shadow  of  the  awful  Hercules. 


12 


THE  BIRTH  OF  APHRODITE. 

Before  all  things  Chaos  enwrapped  the  worlds, 
Where  rolled  unmeasured  Time  and  Space,  until 
Great  Gaia,  favoring  her  Titans,  bared 
Her  mighty  bosom  with  its  fruitful  breasts. 
They  fell;  they  sank  below  the  Stygian  waves; 
Nor  yet  beneath  the  storm-rent  skies  had  Spring 
Let  forth  the  bursting  splendors  of  the  Sun, 
Nor  generous  Summer  ripened  yellow  fields. 
Fierce,  ignorant  of  laughter  and  of  games, 
The  Immortals  throned  upon  Olympus'  snows: 
But  heaven  caused  the  virile  dew  to  fall, 
The  Ocean  parted;  from  the  flame-lit  foam 
Emerging  nude  in  godlike  radiance, 
Bloomed  Aphrodite  in  Uranus'  blood. 


i3 


JASON  AND  MEDEA. 

To  Gustave  Moreau. 

In  an  enchanted  stillness,  'neath  the  leaves 
Of  that  great  forest,  home  of  old  alarms, 
A  wondrous  dawn  was  quickening  with  its  tears 
A  strange,  rich  flowering  about  them  there: 
A  poisonous  perfume  loads  the  magic  air, 
In  which  her  breath  had  sown  the  potent  charms. 
The  Hero  followed;  on  his  armor  shone 
The  quivering  lightnings  of  the  famous  Fleece. 
Lighting  the  wood  as  if  with  precious  stones, 
Great  birds  flew  by  beneath  the  flowery  vault, 
While  heaven's  azure  bent  o'er  silvery  lakes. 
Love  smiled  upon  them;  but  the  fateful  spouse 
Bore  with  her  still  her  furious  jealousy, 
Her  Asian  draughts,  her  father,  and  her  Gods. 


14 


THE  THERMODON. 

All  day  had  blazing  Themiscyra  known 
The  clamor  and  the  shock  of  cavalry, 

And  in  its  dark,  slow  flood  Thermodon  rolled 

Corpses  and  arms,  and  chariots  of  death. 

Where  are  the  armed  maidens  who  led  on 

Their  royal  squadrons  to  the  butchery, 

Hippolyta,  Asteria  aglow? 

Their  pallid  bodies  lie  disheveled,  dead. 

Such  flowering  giant  lilies  were  mown  down; 

Both  banks  were  strown  with  warlike  riders  slain, 

With  here  and  there  a  neighing,  struggling  steed. 

The  Euxine  saw  at  dawn  on  far-off  slopes, 

Beyond  that  stream  ensanguined  to  the  sea, 

White  stallions  fleeing,  stained  with  the  Virgins'  blood. 


15 


ARTEMIS 
AND 

THE  NYMPHS 


ARTEMIS. 

O  Huntress,  now  thy  quivering  nostrils  fill 
With  forest  odors,  pungent,  everywhere; 
And  in  thy  maiden,  man-like  energy, 
With  hair  thrown  backward,  now  thou  wilt  be  gone. 
By  thee  all  day  Ortygia  resounds 
With  roaring  of  hoarse-throated  leopards,  while 
Thou  boundest  through  the  panting  orgy's  midst, 
The  red  sod  strown  with  great  dogs,  disentrailed. 
But,  Goddess,  keener  still  thy  joy  to  feel 
The  piercing  thorn,  the  stab  of  tooth  or  claw 
In  flesh  avenged  already  by  thy  spear; 
For  thy  heart  means  to  taste  the  cruel  sweet 
Of  mingling  deathless  purple  in  thy  sports 
With  the  black  and  horrid  blood  of  monsters  slain. 


i9 


THE  CHASE. 

Four  swift,  white  steeds  have  drawn  the  car  of  day 
To  heaven's  height,  while  'neath  their  burning  breath 
The  checkered  golden  plains  lie  tremulous; 
Earth  feels  upon  her  sides  the  flaming  heat. 
The  forest  spreads  its  scarcely  moving  leaves 
In  vain;  down  through  the  swaying  tops,  through  shade 
Where  silvery  notes  of  laughing  fountains  ring, 
The  sunbeam  darts  and  sparkles  playfully. 

'Tis  that  hot  hour  when,  by  the  thorns,  through  groves, 
Now  bounding  with  her  mighty  dogs,  superb, 
Hallos  of  death,  and  blood,  and  baying  throats, 
Speeding  the  arrows  from  the  tense-drawn  cord, 
With  streaming  hair,  wild,  breathless,  unrestrained, 
Great  Artemis  sends  terror  through  the  woods. 


20 


NYMPHAEVM. 

Downward  the  heavenly  quadriga  glides, 
And,  as  he  views  the  western  sands  beneath, 
In  vain  the  God  holds  back  with  fourfold  rein 
His  steeds,  that  rear  in  the  incandescent  gold, 
And  plunge.     The  sea,  mightily  sighing,  fills 
The  sounding  sky,  where  purple  lingers  yet; 
And  from  the  blue  deep  of  calm  night  shines  down 
The  silent  Crescent,  robed  in  silvery  light. 

The  Nymphs  beside  the  cold  spring's  bank  cast  down 
Their  unstrung  bows  and  quivers  arrowless; 
And  all  is  still,  save  where  a  stag  bells,  far. 
The  cool  moonlight  rests  on  their  nightly  dance, 
While  Pan,  with  slower  or  with  quickened  rhythm, 
Laughs  out  to  hear  his  breath  lend  life  to  reeds. 


21 


PAN. 

On  through  the  thickets,  by  the  secret  paths 
Which  disappear  down  avenues  of  green, 
The  goat-foot  God,  hunter  of  unclad  Nymphs, 
Glides  'neath  the  high  trees  with  his  eyes  on  fire. 
'Tis  sweet  to  listen  to  the  low,  cool  sounds, 
That  rise  from  unseen  springs  when  noon' s  great  sun, 
The  dazzling  conqueror  of  the  clouds,  sends  forth 
Into  the  moving  night  his  shafts  of  gold. 

A  Nymph  has  lost  her  way,  and,  listening,  stops 
Where  morning's  tears  fall  dropping  on  the  moss; 
Her  young  heart  fills  as  with  a  drunkenness: 
But  with  one  bound  from  the  black  thicket  leaps 
The  God;  he  grasps  her,  and  laughs  loud  in  glee, 
And  disappears.     Again  the  woods  are  still. 


22 


THE  BATH  OF  THE  NYMPHS. 

There  is  a  wild  glen  by  the  Euxine  Sea; 
Above  its  spring  bends  down  a  laurel  black; 

One  laughing  Nymph  clings  to  the  branch,  and  dips 

A  timid  foot  into  the  chilly  pool; 

And  all,  with  one  leap  when  they  hear  the  shell, 

Plunge  in  the  splashing  water  their  white  flesh; 

And  from  its  bubbles  rises  now  a  hip, 

Bright  locks,  a  torso,  or  a  rosy  breast. 
A  godlike  merriment  fills  the  dull  woods, 
When  suddenly  two  eyes  glow  in  the  shade; 
The  Satyr's  horrid  laughter  checks  their  sports; 
They  dart  away.     So  let  one  evil  crow 
But  caw,  and  all  Cayster's  swans  will  rise 
In  desperate,  snowy  flight  far  from  the  stream. 


23 


THE  VASE. 

How  fine  the  hand  that  carved  this  ivory  ! 
See!  here  is  Jason  and  the  Colchian  woods, 
Medea  with  great,  magic  eyes,  and  there 
Over  a  stele  hangs  the  sparkling  Fleece: 
Near  them  reclines  the  Nile,  immortal  source 
Of  rivers;  there,  wild  with  sweet  poison  quaffed, 
The  Bacchants  wind  the  full-leaved  vines  about 
The  yoke,  which  bound  the  bulls  those  men  release. 
Beneath  are  horsemen  in  a  clamorous  fray; 
Then  heroes  coming  home  upon  their  shields, 
Old  men  lamenting,  mothers  shedding  tears; 
And  last,  for  handles,  see  them  curve  their  backs 
And  press  their  firm,  white  breasts  against  each  brim, 
The  two  Chimaeras,  drinking  from  the  vase! 


25 


ARIADNE. 

To  the  bronze  cymbal's  clear  and  ringing  clash 
The  Queen,  unclad,  on  a  great  tiger's  back 
Watches  Iacchus  come  across  the  strand 
With  all  the  thronging  Orgy  in  his  train. 
The  royal  beast  yields  his  broad  back  to  bear 
His  dear-loved  burden  o'er  the  yellow  sands; 
And,  as  her  fondling  hand  lets  fall  the  rein, 
For  love  he  roars,  and  bites  his  bridle's  flowers. 
Her  hair  across  his  arching  flank  rolls  down 
Its  clustered  amber  'mid  the  black  of  grapes; 
But  she,  the  Spouse,  hears  not  the  low,  deep  roar, 
For  her  wild  lips,  ambrosia-sated  now, 
Their  long  appeals  to  faithless  love  forgot, 
Smile  for  the  kiss  of  Asia's  conqueror! 


26 


BACCHANAL  ROUT. 

The  Ganges  hears  with  terror  the  quick  cries, 
For  from  their  broken  yokes  the  tigers  spring, 
Mewing,  and  underneath  their  great,  wild  leaps 
The  Bacchants  crush  the  vintage  in  their  flight. 
The  dark  grapes  of  the  vine,  which  claws  and  teeth 
Have  crushed,  have  reddened  all  their  throats  and  flanks, 
While  by  their  striped  sides  white  bellies  gleam 
Of  leopards,  rolling  in  the  purple  mire. 

Above  the  shuddering  bodies  the  dazed  beasts, 
With  growlings  that  hoarse  rattling  throats  prolong, 
Scent  redder  blood  beneath  the  golden  tan; 
The  god,  as  drunken  with  unheard-of  joys, 
With  cries  and  wand  excites  the  maddened  throng 
Of  females  howling  and  of  roaring  males. 


27 


A  GOD'S  AWAKING. 

With  hair  disheveled  and  with  bruised  throats, 
With  tears  that  irritate  their  frenzied  sense, 
The  Byblian  women,  wailing,  lead  the  slow, 
Funereal  line;  for  on  the  bed,  thick-strown 
With  flowering  anemones,  there  lay, 
Perfumed  with  burning  incense  and  sweet  herbs, 
—  For  Death  had  closed  the  languorous,  long  eyes— 
The  youth  adored  by  all  the  Syrian  maids. 
And  so  the  troop  of  women  mourn  till  dawn, 
When,  see!  he  wakens  at  Astarte's  call, 
Her  mystic  spouse,  besprayed  with  dewy  myrrh: 
Alive  once  more,  the  ancient  now  a  youth ! 
The  sky  seems  but  a  single,  open  rose, 
Dyed  with  a  heavenly  Adonis'  blood. 


28 


THE  SORCERESS. 

Yes,  everywhere,  e'en  at  the  altar's  foot, 
I  see  her  call  me,  opening  her  white  arms. 
O  venerable  Father!     Mother,  who 
Didst  bear  me,  is  our  race  then  so  accursed? 
Never  Eumolpid  priest,  avenging,  shook 
His  bloody  robes  toward  us  in  Samothrace; 
Yet  I,  with  weary  heart  and  lagging  foot, 
Flee,  hearing  on  my  track  the  sacred  dogs. 
Hating  myself,  I  breathe  in  everywhere 
The  black  enchantments  and  ill-omened  charms, 
In  which  the  wrathful  Gods  enwrap  me  still; 
For  the  great  Gods  have  made  resistless  arms 
Those  lips  which  make  me  reel,  and  those  sad  eyes, 
Her  kisses  and  her  tears  to  be  my  death. 


29 


THE  SPHINX. 

Where  on  Cithaeron's  side  the  rock  is  cleft, 
The  brambles  hide  a  den,  and  in  the  midst 
The  maid  of  eagle  wings  and  unbowed  will 
Sits  with  resplendent  eyes  and  throat  and  breast. 
Upon  her  threshold  he  has  stopped,  amazed; 
* ' What  shadow  lends  my  cave  still  deeper  gloom?" 
"'Tis  Love!"  "The  God?"  "The  Hero!"  "Enter!  but 
Thou  seekest  Death.     Dar'st  thou  attack  Him?"    "Yes! 
Bellerophon  smote  the  Chimaera  through." 
"No  nearer!"  "But  my  lips  have  made  thine  move!" 
"Come  then,  and  in  my  arms  be  thy  bones  crushed, 
My  nails  deep  in  thy  flesh — "      "What's  torture,  if 
The  fame  be  mine,  and  mine  the  longed-for  kiss?" 
"In  vain  thy  glory;  thou  shalt  die!" — "O  joy!" 


30 


MARSYAS. 

The  natal  wood  thy  breath  was  wont  to  charm 
Gave  not  its  pines  to  burn  thee,  wretched  one! 
Thy  bones  met  dissolution,  and  thy  blood 
Flowed  in  the  Phrygian  streams  down  to  the  plain. 
The  jealous  god,  the  pride  of  heaven,  struck 
His  cithar's  iron  plectrum  through  thy  reeds, 
Which  tamed  the  lions,  taught  the  birds  to  sing; 
And  of  Celaenae's  player  naught  remains 

Save  blood-stained  skin  which  flutters  from  the  yew, 
To  which  they  bound  him  whom  they  flayed  alive. 
O  cruel  god !  What  cries !  Sad,  tender  voice ! 
Men  hear  no  more  'neath  fingers  all  too  skilled 
His  flute  go  sighing  by  Meander's  banks; 
His  skin  is  but  the  plaything  of  the  wind. 


3i 


PERSEUS 

AND 

ANDROMEDA 


ANDROMEDA  AND  THE  MONSTER. 

The  virgin  child  of  Cepheus,  still  alive, 
Disheveled,  bound  to  the  black  island  rock, 
Laments  with  futile  sobbing  as  she  writhes 
Her  queenly  body,  quivering  with  dread. 
The  ocean,  monster-like  beneath  the  storm, 
Casts  at  her  icy  feet  its  acrid  froth, 
And  everywhere  through  her  closed  lids  she  sees 
The  sea-green  jaws  gape,  moving,  numberless. 
Like  thunder-clap  from  out  a  cloudless  sky 
A  sudden  neighing  comes  resounding,  clear: 
Dread  fills  her  opened  eyes,  then  ecstasy; 
She  sees  in  dizzy,  sure-winged  flight  the  son 
Of  Zeus  come  borne  on  rearing  Pegasus, 
Who  spreads  his  great  blue  shadow  o'er  the  sea. 


35 


PERSEUS  AND  ANDROMEDA. 

Amid  the  foam  the  rider  checks  his  flight; 
Medusa's  slayer  slays  this  monster  now. 
Dripping  with  horrid  slaver  stained  with  blood, 
His  arms  bear  off  the  virgin,  golden-haired. 
The  steed  divine,  Chrysaor's  brother,  paws 
The  sea,  and  neighs,  and  fain  would  not  obey. 
He  lifts  the  loved  one  to  him,  wild,  confused, 
Who  laughs,  and  clasps  him  to  her  as  she  sobs. 
His  arms  enfold  her.     Great  waves  hide  them  all; 
She  gently  raises  to  the  steed's  wide  back 
Her  fair  feet,  which  a  straying  wave  had  kissed; 
Then  Pegasus,  vexed  by  the  water's  lash, 
Obeys  the  Hero,  rises  with  one  bound, 
And  beats  the  dazzled  air  with  wings  of  flame. 


36 


ANDROMEDA  BORNE  AWAY. 

IN  silent  flight  the  mighty  winged  horse 
From  wider  nostrils  jets  his  steaming  breath; 
His  feathers  quiver  as  he  bears  them  on 
Athwart  the  blue  night  of  that  starlit  sky. 
First  Africa  sinks  'neath  that  beaten  gulf; 
Then  Asia, —  sands, — then  mist-girt  Lebanon, — 
And  now  appears,  all  white  with  foam,  the  sea, 
In  whose  enshrouding  waters  Helle  sank. 

As  two  wide-spreading  sails  the  wind  expands 
His  wings,  which  'neath  new  stars  encradle  warm 
The  lovers,  locked  within  each  other's  arms, 
Gazing  on  skies  in  which  their  shadows  throb, 
Where,  'twixt  the  Water-bearer  and  the  Ram, 
Their  Constellations  rise  from  depths  of  blue. 


37 


EPIGRAMS 
AND 

BUCOLICS 


THE  GOATHERD. 

Follow  not,  goatherd,  up  this  rough  ravine, 
The  wilful  leaping  of  the  wild  he-goat; 

The  slopes  of  Menalus,  our  exile  home, 

The  darkness  mounts  too  fast;  thy  hope  is  vain. 

Shall  we  stay  here? — I  have  both  figs  and  wine  — 

And  in  this  shelter  wild  await  the  dawn  ? 

Speak  softly,  though;  the  gods  are  everywhere, 

O  Mnasyle;  and  Hecate  looks  down. 
In  shadow  yonder  is  the  Satyr's  cave, 
The  shy,  familiar  spirit  of  these  heights. 
If  we  affright  him  not,  he  may  come  forth. 
Hear' st  thou  the  shepherd's  pipe  sing  at  his  lips? 
'Tis  he  !     His  two  horns  catch  the  rays  !     See  there 
My  goats  dance  for  him  in  the  clear  moonlight ! 


4i 


THE  SHEPHERDS. 

Come.     Yonder  path  leads  to  Cyllene's  dells. 
Here  is  the  cave,  the  spring;  and  there  he  loves 
To  sleep  upon  the  bed  of  grass  and  thyme, 
Beneath  the  great  pine's  shade,  which,  singing,  breathes. 
Tie  to  this  mossy  trunk  thy  full-fed  sheep. 
Know'  st  thou,  that  ere  another  month  for  him 
Besides  her  lamb  she  will  have  cheese  and  milk  ? 
And  Nymphs  will  weave  a  mantle  from  her  wool. 

Be  favorable,  goat-foot  Pan,  and  guard 

The  flocks  that  feed  in  Arcady,  I  pray ! 

He  hears  !     I  see  the  tree  go  quivering ! 

Come,  then.     The  sun  dips  to  the  radiant  west. 

A  marble  altar  and  a  poor  man's  gift 

Are  both  the  same,  if  pure  hearts  offer  them. 


42 


VOTIVE  EPIGRAM. 

To  Ares,  the  severe  !     To  warlike  Strife  ! 
Help  me,  for  I  am  old,  to  hang  upon 
This  pillar  my  hacked  swords,  my  heavy  shield, 
This  broken  casque  with  drooping,  bloody  crest; 
This  bow, — but,  tell  me,  should  I  twist  the  cord 
Around  this  wood, — hard  medlar,  that  no  man 
But  me  has  ever  bent,  —  or  if  my  arm, 
Which  trembles  now,  should  once  more  string  the  bow? 
The  quiver,  too;  thine  eye  appears  to  seek 
The  archer's  weapons  in  the  leathern  sheath, 
The  arrows  that  the  winds  of  battle  speed. 
'Tis  empty.     Think' st  thou  I  have  lost  the  shafts? 
Nay,  thou  mayst  find  them  all  at  Marathon; 
'Twas  there  they  stayed,  stuck  fast  in  Persian  throats. 


43 


FUNERARY  EPIGRAM. 

Here  buried,  Stranger,  lies  a  locust  green, 
Whose  food,  two  seasons  through,  young  Helle  brought, 
Whose  wing,  made  vibrant  by  the  sharp-notched  leg, 
Would  sound  in  bush  or  pine  or  cytisus. 
Silent,  alas !  is  she,  once  nature's  lyre, 
Muse  of  the  fields,  the  furrows,  and  the  grain. 
For  fear  her  gentle  slumber  be  disturbed, 
Pass  quickly,  friend;  let  no  weight  press  on  her. 
See  yonder,  white  among  the  tufted  thyme, 
Her  funeral  stone  just  set.     How  many  men 
Have  missed  this  supreme  mark  of  destiny  ! 
It  was  a  child's  tears  that  first  wet  her  tomb; 
And  every  morning  comes  the  loving  dawn 
And  makes  libation  of  her  dewdrops  here. 


44 


THE  SHIPWRECKED. 

With  wind  astern  and  under  cloudless  skies 
He  saw  the  Pharian  light  receding  fast; 

Arcturus  rose  as  he  left  Egypt,  proud 

Of  his  swift  ship  with  strengthened  sides  of  bronze, 

No  more  to  see  the  Alexandrian  mole. 

In  sands  so  waste  no  goat  could  find  its  food 

The  storm  has  hollowed  his  sad  resting-place; 

The  sea-wind  wrenches  there  a  lonely  shrub. 
Beneath  the  deepest  fold  of  shifting  dune, 
In  night  without  a  moon  or  star  or  dawn, 
May  the  brave  sailor  find  repose  at  last ! 
O  Land,  O  Sea,  pity  his  shade  distressed ! 
On  this  Hellenic  shore  where  his  bones  lie, 
Be  light  above  him,  thou,  and  thou,  be  still ! 


45 


THE  PRAYER  OF  THE  DEAD. 

Stay,  listen,  traveler  !     If  e'er  thy  steps 
Bear  thee  to  Cypsela  and  Hebrus'  banks, 

Bid  aged  Hyllos  duly  mourn  for  me, 

His  son,  whom  he  shall  never  see  again. 

My  murdered  body  was  the  food  of  wolves, 

And  what  remains  lies  in  this  dense,  drear  wood; 

My  grieving,  tearful  Shade  roams  the  dark  ways 

Of  Erebus.     No  man  avenges  me. 

Go,  then.     If  at  the  hour  of  waning  day 
Thou  e'er  shouldst  meet  at  foot  of  mound  or  grave 
A  woman  whose  white  brow  is  veiled  in  black, 
Draw  near;  fear  neither  night  nor  charms;  it  is 
My  mother,  Stranger,  by  a  useless  tomb, 
Clasping  an  empty  urn,  wet  with  her  tears. 


46 


THE  SLAVE. 

Unclothed,  unclean,  frightful,  and  meanly  fed, 
A  slave, — my  body  bears  the  marks  of  it — 
I  was  born  free  where  sweep  the  fair,  curved  shores, 
And  honeyed  Hybla'  s  hills  of  blue  look  down, 
I  left  the  happy  isle,  alas!     If  thou, 
In  springtime  following  the  flight  of  swans, 
Shalt  see  the  Syracusan  bees  and  vines, 
Dear  guest,  then  search  out  her  whom  I  have  loved. 
Her  eyes  of  shaded  violet,  so  pure 
Beneath  the  conquering  arches  of  those  brows, 
Shall  I  see  smile  to  heaven,  reflected  there? 
In  pity  go  where  Clearista  dwells; 
Tell  her  I  live  to  see  her  once  again. 
Thine  eyes  shall  know  her,  for  she's  ever  sad. 


47 


THE  HUSBANDMAN. 

Seed-basket,  plough,  yoke,  shares  worn  bright, 
Harrow  and  goad,  and  sharpened  scythe  that  mowed 
In  one  day  grain  to  fill  a  threshing-floor, 
Pitchfork  that  passed  the  sheaves  to  the  laborers,  — 
These  homely  tools,  too  heavy  for  him  now, 
Old  Parmis  vows  to  Rhea  the  divine, 
Who  wakes  the  seed  laid  in  the  sacred  earth; 
His  work  is  over  with  his  eighty  years. 

He  still  is  poor,  though  nigh  a  century 

Beneath  the  sun  his  coulter  cleaves  the  sod; 

Joyless  his  life,  old  age  without  remorse; 

And  weary  for  his  labor  with  the  clods, 

He  wonders  if  perhaps  in  Erebus 

The  dark  fields  of  the  dead  must  too  be  ploughed. 


48 


TO  HERMES  CRIOPHOROS. 

That  the  companion  of  the  Naiads  please 
To  make  the  ewe  attractive  to  the  ram, 
And  by  him  deign  to  multiply  the  flocks 
That  wander,  nibbling,  by  Galaesus'  banks, 
Let  him  at  ease  be  welcomed  festively 
Beneath  the  friendly  shepherd's  roof  of  reeds; 
The  genial  Spirit  loves  the  sacrifice 
On  marble  table  or  on  block  of  clay. 
Honor  to  Hermes  !     The  discerning  god 
Holds  dearer  than  rich  altars  or  great  shrines 
Pure  hands  that  slay  a  victim  without  spot. 
Friend,  let  us  raise  a  mound  on  thy  field's  edge; 
A  he-goat' s  hairy  throat  shall  pour  its  blood 
Upon  the  purple  turf  and  blackened  clay. 


49 


THE  DEAD  GIRL. 

Pass  quickly,  Living  One,  whoe'er  thou  art, 
By  this  green  mound  where  I  lie  unconsoled; 

Tread  not  the  flowers  of  my  lowly  tomb, 

Where  I  hear  creep  the  ivy  and  the  ant. 

Thou  stay' st  thy  steps?  A  wood-dove's  note  has  moaned. 

No,  let  her  not  be  slain  above  my  bed. 

If  thou  wouldst  have  my  love,  leave  her  to  fly; 

Life  is  so  sweet!  O,  let  her  live,  my  friend  ! 

Know'st  thou?  The  myrtle  garlanded  my  door; 

A  wedded  maid,  at  Hymen's  threshold  I 

Met  Death,  so  near,  so  far  from  him  I  loved  ! 

My  eyelids  closing  to  the  happy  light, 

Now  I  must  live  for  aye  with  Erebus, 

A  god  unmoved  by  prayers,  and  shadowy  Night. 


5o 


REGILLA. 

Here  buried  Annia  Regilla  lies, 
Through  Ganymede  Aphrodite's  child, 
Aeneas'  daughter,  whom  great  Herod  loved, 
So  happy,  young,  and  fair.     Pity  her,  dead. 
The  Shade,  whose  body  of  delight  lies  here, 
Is  with  that  Lower  Prince  of  Happy  Isles, 
And  counts  the  days,  the  months,  the  year,  so  long ! 
Since  Fate  has  exiled  her  so  far  from  home. 
Haunted  by  memories  of  her  charming  form, 
Her  spouse  despairs,  alone,  in  sleepless  grief 
On  bed  of  purple,  ivory  and  gold. 
He  tarries.     He  comes  not.     Her  loving  soul 
Awaits  him  eagerly,  and  ever  flies 
Round  the  black  scepter  Rhadamanthus  lifts. 


5i 


THE  RUNNER. 

On  a  Statue  by  Myron. 

As  when,  with  Thymos  close  behind,  he  flew 
Down  Delphi's  stadium  by  the  shouting  crowd, 
So  Ladas  ever  runs,  with  foot  of  bronze 
Spurning  the  pedestal,  slight,  swift  as  the  wind. 
With  arm  stretched  forth,  eye  fixed,  and  breast  thrust  out, 
The  pearling  sweat  of  bronze  drips  from  his  brow. 
You  would  say,  the  athlete  from  the  mould  had  sprung 
Alive,  while  yet  the  sculptor  wrought  his  form. 
He  throbs,  all  tremulous  with  feverish  hope, 
With  panting  sides  scarce  breathes  the  air  he  cleaves; 
With  labor  every  bronzen  muscle  swells. 
Rushing  in  his  resistless  course,  see  how 
He  springs  this  instant  from  this  footing  toward 
The  arena's  palm-branch,  beckoning  at  the  goal  ! 


52 


THE  CHARIOTEER. 

That  man  who  mounts  the  golden  chariot-pole, 
His  black  steeds'  fourfold  reins  held  in  one  hand 
And  in  the  other  his  good  whip  of  ash, 
Drives  better,  Stranger,  than  e'er  Castor  did. 
Of  famous  house,  himself  more  famous  still,  — 
He's  off!     Toward  the  red  turning-post  he  swings, 
This  Libyan,  whom  the  Autocrat  holds  dear, 
His  rivals  strown  like  seed  upon  the  sand. 
The  dazzled  circus  sees  him  seven  times 
Reel  whirling  onward  to  the  victor's  goal, 
All  calm.     Hail,  son  of  Calchas,  the  Blue  !  Hail ! 
And  you  shall  see,  if  eyes  of  mortals  can, 
A  man  made  god,  for  Victory  guides  down 
Her  car  of  flame  to  greet  Porphyrius. 


53 


ON  OTHRYS. 

To  Puvis  de  Chavannes. 

The  air  grows  cool.     The  sun  glides  down  the  west; 
The  ox  dreads  fly  and  beetle  now  no  more. 
On  Othrys'  slopes  the  shadows  lengthen;  stay, 
Stay  here  with  me,  dear  guest  the  Gods  have  sent ! 
And  while  thou  drink' st  the  foaming  milk,  thine  eyes 
Shall  see  from  my  poor  hut  Olympus'  heights, 
And  far  Tymphrestus'  snows  beyond  the  plains 
And  glorious  hills  of  fertile  Thessaly. 

Yonder  the  sea, — Euboea, — red  in  the  dusk, 
Callidromus,  —  Oeta,  which  Hercules 
Made  his  first  altar,  and  his  funeral  pyre; 
And  last,  in  gauzy  light,  Parnassus,  where 
At  evening,  weary  with  some  deathless  flight, 
Comes  Pegasus,  to  vanish  with  the  dawn. 


54 


ROME 

AND 

THE  BARBARIANS 


FOR  VIRGIL'S  SHIP. 

Clear  Dioscuri,  Helen's  brethren  twain, 
Let  your  stars,  brighter,  better  keep  from  harm 
The  Latin  poet,  who  would  fain  behold 
'Neath  Grecian  skies  the  golden  Cyclades 
Rise  from  the  deep.     Of  winds  the  tenderest, 
Let  mild  Iapyx  with  redoubled  breath 
Of  fragrant  breezes  fill  the  swelling  sail, 
And  waft  the  good  ship  to  the  foreign  shore. 
Guide  happily  the  Mantuan  singer  through 
The  island-sea  in  which  the  dolphin  sports; 
Lend  him  a  brother's  light,  Son  of  the  Swan ! 
Half  of  my  life  is  in  the  fragile  ship, 
Which  bears  o'  er  seas  that  heard  Arion  sing 
Great  Virgil  to  the  home-land  of  the  Gods. 


57 


THE  COUNTRY  HOME. 

Yes,  'tis  the  old  man  Gallus  owns  the  place 
You  see  up  yonder  on  the  Alpine  slope; 
A  single  pine-tree  shelters  all  the  house 
Of  scarce  one  story  with  its  roof  of  thatch, 
Yet  large  enough  to  share  with  some  loved  guest. 
He  has  his  vines,  and  oven  for  two  loaves; 
And  in  his  garden  lupine  grows  to  spare. 
'Tis  little  ?  Gallus  has  no  wish  for  more. 
His  grove  yields  fagots  for  the  winter's  fire, 
And,  in  the  summer,  shade  'neath  its  green  leaves; 
There  in  the  fall  a  stray  thrush. he  may  snare. 
Contented  with  his  narrow  destiny, 
Here  Gallus  ends  his  life  where  he  was  born, 
For  Gallus  is  a  wise  man.     Fare  you  well ! 


58 


THE  FLUTE. 

Yonder  the  doves  fly  through  the  evening  air. 
Nothing  avails  to  charm  love's  feverish  heat, 
O  Goatherd,  like  the  note  of  pipe  at  lip, 
While,  near,  the  cool  spring  sounds  among  the  reeds. 
Beneath  this  plane-tree's  shade  where  we  are  stretched 
The  grass  is  softer.     Leave  then,  friend,  the  goat, 
Who  strays,  deaf  to  her  bleating,  half-weaned  kid, 
To  climb  the  rock  and  nip  the  tender  buds. 
My  flute  of  seven  parts  of  hemlock  wood 
Unequaled,  joined  with  wax,  sounds  shrill  or  low, 
And  weeps,  or  sings,  or  moans,  as  I  may  choose. 
Come  learn  of  us  Silenus'  art  divine, 
And  from  this  sacred  pipe  your  loving  sighs 
Shall  fly  away  in  breathing  harmonies. 


59 


TO  SEXTIUS. 

The  boat  is  off  the  sands.     The  sky  is  clear; 
The  orchards  bloom.     No  longer  silvery  frost 
Gleams  on  the  meadows  in  the  morning  sun. 
The  herdsman  and  his  cattle  leave  the  sheds. 
All  things  revive;  but  Death  and  his  sad  tales 
Oppress  us;  and,  for  thee,  that  day  alone 
Is  sure,  when  at  the  festive  board  the  dice 
Shall  no  more  mark  thee  for  the  table' s  king. 
Short  is  our  life,  O  Sextius !     Let  us  haste 
To  live.     Our  knees  are  weakened  now  with  age. 
No  spring-time  comes  in  that  cold  land  of  shades. 
Come,  then.     The  woods  are  green;  this  is  the  time 
To  sacrifice  to  Faunus,  in  the  gloom 
Withdrawn,  a  black  he-goat  or  white-fleeced  lamb. 


60 


HORTORUM  DEUS 

To  Paul  Arene 


Olim  truncus  eram  ficulnus. 

HORACE. 

Approach  not!  Go  away !  Pass  by  far  off, 
Stranger !     Sly  pilferer,  thou  wouldst  steal,  I  think, 

The  grapes,  the  olives,  or  the  aubergines 

This  orchard  shelters,  ripening  in  the  sun. 

I  watch.     A  shepherd  with  a  bill-hook  hewed 

Me  out  of  Aeginetan  fig-wood,  tough: 

Laugh  at  the  sculptor,  passer-by,  but  think 

Of  whence  I  am,  and  vengeance  may  be  harsh. 
Once,  dear  to  the  sailors,  at  a  galley's  prow 
I  stood,  all  colored  red,  and  joyed  to  see 
The  water's  foaming  rage  or  dazzling  play; 
But  now,  mere  guard  of  salad-herbs  and  fruit, 
I  ward  off  thieves  from  this  enclosure  here,  — 
Never  to  see  the  laughing  Cyclades. 


63 


II. 

Hujus  nam  domini  colunt  me  Deumque  salutant. 

CATULLUS. 

Respect,  O  Traveler,  as  thou  fear'st  my  wrath, 
This  lowly  roof  of  plaited  reeds  and  flag; 
Here  with  his  children  lives  a  strong  old  man, 
The  owner  of  this  land  and  that  clear  spring. 
'Tis  he  who  set  up  in  the  threshing  floor 
My  emblem,  hewn  four-square  from  linden-wood. 
He  has  no  other  Gods;  I  guard  alone 
This  orchard,  planted  too  with  flowers  for  me. 
They  are  poor  people,  rustic  and  devout; 
By  them  these  violets,  dull  poppies,  and 
Green  barley-heads  were  wound  about  my  shaft; 
And  always  twice  each  year  this  altar  drinks 
Beneath  the  sacrificing  farmer's  knife 
The  blood  of  a  young,  wanton,  bearded  goat. 


64 


III. 


Ecce  milieus 
Venit  .  .  . 

CATULLUS. 

Hallo,  there,  cursed  children  !  Pitfalls !  Traps ! 
The  dog !     I  guard  this  place;  you  shall  not  come 
Pretending  it  is  for  a  clove  of  leek, 
And  then  steal  fruit  and  strip  my  grape-vines  clean. 
Besides,  that  farmer  cutting  stubble  sees; 
And  if  he  comes,  then,  by  my  stake !  your  back 
Will  know  how  much  a  god  of  tough  wood  weighs 
When  handled  by  a  strong  man,  striking  hard. 
Quick !  Take  the  left-hand  path,  and  follow  it 
To  where  the  hedge  leaves  off,  where  that  beech  grows; 
And  there, — mind  what  I  whisper  to  you  now !  — 
The  next  farm's  God  Priapus  does  not  watch; 
From  here  you  see  the  posts  of  trellises, 
Where,  shaded  by  the  vines,  the  red  grapes  hang. 


65 


IV. 


Mihi  corolla  picta  vere  ponitur. 

CATULLUS. 

Come  in  !     Fresh-coated  are  my  posts,  and  new 
My  arbor,  where  the  sun  comes  gliding  in; 
Here's  pleasant  shade,  sweet  with  the  scent  of  balm; 
Now  April  strews  fresh  flowers  o'er  the  earth. 
Each  season  decks  me  in  its  turn;  ripe  grain, 
And  grapes,  green  olives,  or  the  Spring's  first  blooms. 
The  morning's  milk  still  curdles  in  the  vat, 
When  too  the  goat  brings  me  her  udder  full. 
This  farmer  honors  me.     I  merit  it; 
Nor  thrush  nor  thief  e'er  pilfered  vine  of  his; 
No  man  of  the  Roman  Field  is  better  served. 
His  sons  are  goodly,  his  wife  too;  and  he 
Each  market-evening  jingles  in  his  hand 
The  pennies  of  bright  silver  brought  from  Rome. 


66 


Migetque  dura  barba  juncta  crystallo. 
Diversorum  poetarum  lusus. 

How  cold !  The  last  green  vine-leaves  shine  with  frost. 
I  am  watching  for  the  sunrise,  for  I  know 

The  moment  when  Soracte's  snows  shall  blush. 

Hard  lot  of  rustic  God  !     Man  is  perverse. 

With  shaggy,  matted  beard  I  have  shivered  now 

Some  score  of  winters  in  this  ruined  yard. 

My  bright  red  paint  scales  off;  my  shrinking  wood 

Shows  cracks;  I  fear  to  be  worm-eaten  yet. 
Why  not  a  household  God,  or  some  plain  Lar, 
In-doors  and  painted,  ever  happy,  fed, 
Yes,  gorged  with  fruit  and  honey,  wreathed  with  flowers? 
In  the  entrance-court  'mid  ancestors  of  wax 
I'd  age,  and  children  on  their  manhood-day 
Should  hang  their  bullae  on  my  honored  neck. 


67 


THE  TEPIDARIUM. 

The  myrrh  perfumes  their  limbs  relaxed,  as  they 
Now  dreamily  enjoy  December's  warmth; 
The  bronzen  brazier  lights  the  room,  and  casts 
A  gleam,  or  shade,  across  their  fair,  pale  brows. 
On  byssus  cushion  or  in  purple  couch 
Sunk  softly,  now  a  pink  or  amber  form 
Will  rise  a  little,  bend,  or  stretch  itself 
And  raise  the  linen  in  voluptuous  folds. 
An  Asian  woman,  on  whose  hot  flesh  glide 
The  trickling  drops,  turns  wearily  her  arms, 
All  nerveless,  in  the  middle  of  the  room; 
The  pale  group  of  Ausonia's  daughters  gaze 
In  ecstasy  on  that  wild  wealth  of  hair, 
Black,  bending  with  her  body' s  hue  of  bronze. 


69 


TRANQUILLUS. 

C.  Plinii  Secundi  Epist.  Lib.  I,  Ep.  XXIV. 

''TV as  in  this  pleasant  land  Suetonius  lived: 

1       Amid  the  vines  still  stands  a  piece  of  wall 
Of  his  poor  villa  by  the  Tiber's  side, 
A  ruined  arch,  draped  by  the  hanging  vine. 
'Twas  here  he  loved  to  come  each  autumn,  far 
From  Rome,  and  'neath  the  last  blue,  cloudless  skies 
Gather  his  grapes,  that,  ripe,  weighed  down  the  elms. 
His  days  passed  here  in  an  unchanging  calm. 
This  peace,  so  pastoral,  was  haunted  then 
By  Nero,  Claudius,  Caligula; 
Here  Messalina  prowled  in  purple  stole. 
'Twas  here  his  iron  stylus,  pointed  sharp, 
Scratched  on  the  waxen  tables  merciless 
How  Capri's  old  man  smirched  his  idle  days. 


70 


LUPERCUS. 

M.  Val.  Martialis  Lib.  I,  Epigr.  CXVIII. 

Lupercus,  from  as  far  as  he  can  see, 
Cries:     "Poet,  your  new  epigram  is  prime. 
Say,  shall  I  send  to  you  tomorrow  for 
The  loan  of  all  the  rolls  of  all  your  works ?" 
"No,  your  old  slave  is  lame  and  short  of  breath; 
My  stairs  are  hard,  my  house  far  off.     Don't  you 
Live  near  the  Palatine?     My  bookseller, 
Atrectus  dwells  in  the  Argiletum,  and — 
His  shop,  The  Forum  Corner,  has  for  sale 
Dead  authors'  books, — and  live  ones';  Virgil  's  there, 
Terence  and  Phaedrus,  Pliny,  Silius. 
There  on  a  shelf,  not  on  the  farthest  back, 
Polished,  and  wrapped  in  purple, — cedar  box,  — 
Martial  's  for  sale;  price:  five  denarii. " 


7i 


THE  TREBBIA. 

The  mountain-tops  are  whitening  in  the  dawn 
This  fated  day.     The  camp  awakes.     Below 
The  stream  rolls  roaring,  where  Numidians  drink, 
And  everywhere  sounds  the  clear  trumpet's  call. 
In  scorn  of  Scipio,  of  augurs  false, 
Of  Trebbia  overflowing,  wind  and  rain, 
Sempronius,  Consul,  haughty  with  new  fame, 
Has  sent  the  lictors  forth  with  lifted  axe. 
On  the  black  sky,  from  the  horizon  flared 
The  sad  glow  of  Insubrian  villages 
In  flames.     Far  off  an  elephant  was  heard; 
And  yonder  by  the  bridge  against  an  arch 
Stood  Hannibal,  triumphant  in  his  thought, 
And  listened  to  the  legions'  heavy  tread. 


72 


AFTER  CANNAE. 

One  consul  slain,  toward  Linternum  or 
Venusia  flees  the  other.     Aufidus 
O'erflows,  too  full  of  the  dead  and  arms.     The  bolt 
Strikes  the  Capitoline.     Bronze  sweats.     Red  skies 
Grow  dull.     In  vain  the  pontiff's  lectistern; 
Twice  sought  in  vain  the  sibyl's  oracle. 
The  grandsire's,  widow's,  orphan's  common  grief 
Fills  terror-stricken  Rome  with  one  long  sob. 
At  night  all  crowded  to  the  aqueducts, 
Youth  and  decrepit  age,  plebs,  women,  slaves, 
And  all  Suburra  and  the  jails  belch  forth; 
All  dread  to  see  on  those  red  Sabine  hills, 
Where  shines  Heaven's  bloody  eye,  the  one-eyed  Chief 
Come  riding  his  Getulian  elephant. 


73 


TO  ONE  CELEBRATING  HIS  TRIUMPH. 

Illustrious  Imperator,  let  them  carve 
Upon  thine  arch  barbarian  warrior  ranks, 
Old  chiefs  beneath  the  yoke,  armor  and  ships, 
The  captive  fleet,  the  aplustre  and  the  prow. 
From  whomsoever  sprung,  Ancus  or  boor, 
Thy  name,  stock,  honors,  titles  long  or  short, 
Grave  them  in  low  relief  and  in  the  frieze, 
But — deep,  deep,  lest  the  future  frustrate  all. 

E'en  now  Time  wields  the  fatal  arm.     Canst  thou 
Hope  to  eternise  thy  renown,  when  power 
To  cleave  a  trophy  lives  in  one  poor  vine? 
Alone  thy  triumph's  marble,  strown,  shall  show 
Where  lies  thy  ruined  glory,  choked  by  weeds, 
And  serve  to  dull  some  Samnite  mower's  scythe. 


74 


ANTONY 

AND 

CLEOPATRA 


THE  CYDNUS. 

Beneath  triumphal  blue,  in  sun-glare,  moves 
The  silver  trireme,  whitening  the  dark  stream, 
And  leaves  a  censer's  perfume  after  it, 
And  notes  of  flutes,  and  sounds  of  rustling  silk. 
A  wide-winged  hawk  is  at  the  dazzling  prow; 
And  from  her  royal  dais,  gazing,  leans 
In  the  evening  splendor  Cleopatra,  like 
Some  golden  bird,  watching  its  distant  prey. 
In  Tarsus  waits  her  warrior,  disarmed; 
In  air  entranced  the  Lagian  holds  out 
Her  amber  arms,  pink  in  the  light  thrown  down 
From  purple.     She  sees  not  her  fate  foretold 
Beside  her, — children  twain,  divine  Desire 
And  Death,  who  strow  rose-leaves  on  the  dull  tide. 


77 


THE  EVENING  AFTER  THE  BATTLE. 

Hard  was  the  shock  of  battle.     Rallying  now 
The  cohorts,  tribunes  and  centurions 

Breathed  still,  in  air  in  which  strong  voices  rang, 

The  acrid  odors  of  the  slaughter's  heat. 

With  mournful  gaze  counting  their  comrades  dead, 

The  soldiers  watched  far  off,  like  fallen  leaves 

The  bowmen  of  Phraortes  whirl  away; 

And  down  their  sunburnt  faces  rolled  the  sweat. 
'Twas  then  appeared,  all  stuck  with  arrows,  red 
With  tide  that  flowed  from  fresh  woundS  underneath 
The  floating  purple  and  the  ruddy  bronze, 
With  tumult  of  the  blaring  trumpeters, 
Curbing  his  frightened  steed,  'gainst  flaming  skies, 
Superb,  the  Imperator's  bleeding  form. 


78 


ANTONY  AND  CLEOPATRA. 

From  the  high  terrace  both  were  looking  down 
On  Egypt  sleeping  '  neath  the  stifling  sky, 
And  Nile,  who  cleaves  the  Delta  black,  and  sends 
Toward  Sais  and  Bubastis  his  rich  flood. 
The  Roman  felt  his  heavy  corselet  yield, 
— A  captive  soldier  set  to  soothe  a  child — 
Beneath  the  form  voluptuous,  now  clasped, 
Pliant  and  faint,  to  his  triumphant  breast. 
Her  face  amid  her  dark  locks,  seeming-pale, 
She  turns  to  him,  whom  matchless  perfumes  chain 
Entranced,  and  holds  her  lips  and  her  bright  eyes. 
The  ardent  Imperator,  bending,  sees 
In  those  great  starry  orbs,  glinting  like  gold, 
A  whole  wide  sea,  and  galleys  there  in  flight. 


79 


EPIGRAPHIC  SONNETS 

Bagneres-de-Luchon,  Sept.  188-. 


THE  VOW. 

ILIXONI 

ISCITTO    DEO 

DEO 
FAB.    FESTA 
V.   S.    L.    M. 

ravnm 

HUNNU 
VLOHOXIS 

FIL. 
V.  S.    L.    M. 

Iberian  dark  and  Gaul  of  tawny  hair, 
Garumnian  brown,  ochre-and-carmine  stained, 
On  votive  marble  that  their  hands  have  carved, 
Have  told  this  goodly  water's  saving  power. 
Then  Imperators,  'neath  Venasque  drear, 
Built  the  piscina  and  the  Roman  baths; 
And  by  this  roadside  Fabia  Festa  found 
The  vervain  and  the  mallow  for  the  Gods. 
Today,  the  springs  sing  me  their  song,  divine 
As  when  Iscittus  and  Ilixo  reigned ; 
The  sulphur  still  clouds  the  moraine's  pure  air: 
So,  in  my  verse  vow-keeping,  now  I  rear 
As  once  did  Hunnu,  son  of  Ulohox, 
A  stranger's  altar  to  the  Nymphs  below. 


83 


THE  SPRING. 

NYMPHIS  AVG.   SACRVM 

'  IV  T  EATH  tnorn  anc*  weed  the  buried  altar  lies. 

1   i      The  nameless  spring  goes  dripping,  dripping,  still, 
A  plaintive  sound  within  the  lonely  dell; 
The  Nymph,  forgotten,  weeps  forever  here. 
The  useless  mirror  lies  unrippled  now, 
Its  surface  rarely  skimmed  by  flying  bird; 
Alone  the  moon  will  look  from  topmost  sky 
To  see  her  pale  face  there  reflected  still. 

A  wandering  shepherd  drinks  at  it  sometimes; 

And  on  the  ancient  paving  of  the  road 

Pours  water,  left  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand; 

The  ancient  motion  all  unknown  he  makes, 

For  his  eyes  never  saw  the  Roman  shaft 

With  libatory  vase  and  patera. 


84 


THE  BEECH  GOD. 

FAGO  DEO 

He  built  beside  Garumna  his  rude  house 
Beneath  a  beech  of  mighty,  torse-like  trunk, 
Its  white  bark  swollen  with  a  God's  own  sap; 
His  sole  horizon  the  maternal  wood. 
For  here  the  free  man  finds  in  their  due  time 
Beechnuts  and  wood,  shade  and  the  beasts  to  hunt 
With  bow  or  spear,  with  net  or  luring  bait, 
That  he  may  eat  their  flesh  or  wear  their  skins. 
Long  he  lived,  rich,  happy,  and  masterless; 
When  he  came  home  at  nightfall  the  old  beech 
Would  hold  out  welcome  with  familiar  arms; 
And  when  Death  came  to  bow  this  free  man's  head, 
His  sons'  sons  hewed  his  coffin  from  the  heart 
That  had  not  known  decay,  of  its  chief  branch. 


85 


TO  THE  DIVINE  MOUNTAINS. 

GEMINVS  SERVVS 
ET  PRO  SVIS  CONSERVIS 

Blue  glaciers,  peaks  of  marble  and  of  slate, 
Granite,  moraines,  whose  winds  rage  from  N6thou 
To  Begle,  wrest,  burn,  tear  up  wheat  and  rye; 
Rough  passes;  lakes;  dense,  thickly  nested  woods; 
Dull  caves,  black  valleys  where  exiles  of  old, 
Rather  than  bow  beneath  a  servile  rod, 
With  bear  and  wolf,  chamois  and  eagle  lived; 
Ye  cliffs  and  torrents,  chasms,  blest  be  ye  all ! 

Fled  from  harsh  town  and  slave-jail,  Geminus 

Did  dedicate  this  shaft  unto  the  Heights, 

The  sacred  guardians  of  stern  Liberty. 

Striking  the  quivering  silence  of  these  peaks, 

In  air  inviolate,  unbounded,  pure, 

The  cry  of  a  free  man  I  seem  to  hear. 


86 


THE  EXILE. 

MONTIBVS  .    .    . 
GARRI  DEO  .    . 
SABINVLA  . 
V.  S.    L.   M. 

To  this  wild  valley  Caesar  exiled  thee; 
Each  evening  with  slow  steps  toward  Ardiege 
Thou  cam' st  to  rest  upon  that  mossy  rock, 
Thy  bent  brow  silvered  with  too  early  snows. 
Thou  saw'st  thy  youth  again,  thy  dear  loved  home, 
The  Flamen  red  and  his  white  train;  and  then, 
To  ease  thy  longing  for  the  Latin  soil, 
Thy  gaze  sought  heaven,  sad  Sabinula. 

When,  late,  the  eagle  soared  to  aeries,  high 
On  Gar,  bright  with  its  seven  chalky  peaks, 
Thy  daily  dreams  went  with  them  in  their  flight. 
Without  desire,  nor  hoping  aught  from  man, 
Thy  hands  reared  altars  to  the  kindly  Heights, 
Whose  nearer  Gods  consoled  thee  for  thy  Rome. 


87 


THE  MIDDLE  AGES 

AND 
THE  RENAISSANCE 


STAINED  GLASS. 

These  panes  have  seen  great  dames  and  mighty  lords 
In  flaming  gleam  of  azure,  gold,  and  pearl 

Bow  low  the  pride  of  helmet  and  of  hood 

Beneath  the  august  consecrating  hand, 

When  they  would  go  at  horn  or  bugle  call 

With  saker  or  gerfalcon,  or  drawn  sword, 

To  plain  or  wood,  Byzantium  or  Saint  John, 

To  fly  the  heron,  or  to  Holy  Land. 

Now  lords  and  ladies  side  by  side  lie  here 
With  pointed  shoe  upon  the  outstretched  hound, 
On  field  of  marble  pavement,  black  and  white. 
Voiceless  and  motionless,  and  hearing  not, 
Their  eyes  of  stone  look  up,  but  can  not  see 
The  great  rose-window,  ever  blooming  there. 


9i 


EPIPHANY. 

Balthasar,  Melchior,  Gaspar,  the  Three  Kings, 
With  train  of  camels  filing  far  behind 
Laden  with  silver  nefs,  enamels,  plate, 
Advance  as  on  the  ancient  painted  page. 
From  the  Far  East  they  bring  their  gifts  to  lay 
Before  God's  Son,  now  born  to  cure  the  ills 
Which  man  and  animal  have  suffered  here; 
A  swarthy  page  holds  up  the  figured  robe. 
Saint  Joseph  watches  at  the  stable  door; 
And  lowly  at  His  feet  they  lay  their  crowns 
In  homage  to  the  Child,  who  wondering  smiles. 
Augustus  Csesar  reigned  when  first  they  came 
With  gifts  of  gold  and  frankincense  and  myrrh, 
Balthasar,  Melchior,  Gaspar,  the  Three  Kings. 


92 


THE  CARPENTER  OF  NAZARETH. 

Over  his  bench  the  master-carpenter 
Would  work  since  dawn  at  finishing  the  press, 
Using,  as  need  was,  grating  rasp,  or  plane, 
Or  mortise-chisel,  or  hard  polisher. 
So  when  toward  evening,  not  without  content 
He  saw  the  platane's  shadow  reach  the  sill, 
The  Lady  Virgin  and  Saint  Anne  would  come 
With  my  Lord  Jesus,  and  sit  down  by  him. 
Today  the  air  is  burning;  no  leaf  stirs; 
Saint  Joseph's  tired  hand  lays  down  the  gouge 
And  with  his  apron-corner  wipes  his  brow; 
But  in  the  dark  rear  of  the  workshop  still 
Shavings  of  gold  keep  following  the  plane 
Of  the  Divine  Apprentice,  veiled  in  light. 


93 


MEDALLION. 

Rimini's  Lord,  God's  Vicar,  Podesta. 
His  hawk-profile  here  stands  out,  there  recedes, 

In  tawny  half-light  on  the  disk  of  bronze, 

Life-like  as  when  Matteo  moulded  it. 

Now,  of  all  tyrants,  hated  by  a  folk, 

Count,  marquis,  duke,  prince,  princeling,  lorded  none,  - 

Be  it  Ezzelino,  Galeazzo,  Can, 

Or  Hercules,  — with  Malatesta'  s  pride. 
This  best  one,  Sigismond  Pandolfo,  bled 
Romagna  and  the  Marches  and  the  Gulf; 
Then  built  a  temple,  made  love,  sang  of  it. 
Their  wives,  too,  were  severe;  for  on  the  bronze, 
On  which  Isotta  smiles,  the  Elephant 
Triumphal  treads  the  primroses  to  earth. 


94 


THE  RAPIER. 

Upon  the  hilt  you  read:  Calixtus,  Pope. 
Wrought  in  reliefs  of  gorgeous  workmanship, 
Tiara,  keys,  with  boat  and  net  composed 
The  ancestral  Ox,  emblazoned  on  the  chape. 
The  handle  is  some  laughing  pagan  god, 
Or  faun,  clasped  by  a  vine  of  coral  beads; 
And  so  the  enamel  sets  the  metal  off, 
It  seems  more  made  to  dazzle  than  to  strike. 
Antonio  Perez  de  Las  Cellas  forged 
This  pastoral  staff  for  the  first  Borgia, 
As  if  he  had  foreknown  the  famous  race. 
This  sword  sums  more  than  Ariosto  could, 
Or  Sannazaro,  by  its  steel  and  gold, 
Pope  Alexander's  and  Prince  Caesar's  deeds. 


95 


PETRARCAN. 

As  you  came  forth  from  church,  and  piously 
Stretched  out  your  noble  hand  in  charity, 
Your  beauty  shone  so  clear  in  that  dark  porch, 
The  dazzled  poor  saw  all  the  gold  of  heaven. 
With  gracious  salutation  greeting  you, 
Lowly,  as  fits  him  who  would  not  offend, 
I  saw  you  draw  your  cloak,  and,  seeming  vexed, 
Turn  from  me,  as  you  covered  up  your  eyes. 
But  Love,  who  sways  the  most  rebellious  heart, 
Would  not  that  you,  less  kind  than  beautiful, 
The  fount  of  pity,  should  refuse  me  grace; 
And  you  were  then  so  slow  to  draw  your  veil, 
Your  shining  lashes  quivered  as  they  drooped, 
Like  leaves  at  night  when  one  bright  star  shines  through. 


96 


ON  "LE   LIVRE    DES   AMOURS"    OF 
PIERRE  DE  RONSARD. 

More  than  one  lover  carved  of  old  in  bark 
More  than  one  name  in  gardens  of  Bourgueil; 
Beneath  the  Louvre's  golden  ceilings  more 
Than  one  heart  thrilled  with  pride  at  one  quick  smile. 
What  matters  it?     Their  joy  or  grief  untold, 
They  lie  all  there,  hemmed  by  four  planks  of  oak; 
Beneath  the  grass  that  covers  them,  no  man 
Claims  from  oblivion  their  lifeless  dust. 

All  die.     Marie,  H61ene,  Cassandra  proud, 
Your  fair  forms  were  but  senseless  ashes  now, 
— To  rose  and  lily  no  tomorrow  comes  — 
If,  by  the  Seine  or  golden  Loire,  Ronsard 
Had  not  with  deathless  hand  entwined  for  you 
Fame's  laurel  in  the  myrtle  crown  of  Love. 


97 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  VIOLE. 

A  vous,  trouppe  Mgkre, 

To  Henry  Cros.  ®ui  faile  P™sagtre 

far  le  monde  volez  .  .  . 

JOACHIM  DU  BELLAY. 

Upon  her  balcony,  she  sees  the  road 
Men  take  from  Loire-banks  to  the  Italian  shores. 
O'er  her  bent  brow  the  olive  leaves  are  pale; 
The  violet  in  bloom  shall  fade  this  night. 
The  viol,  still  caressed  by  her  frail  hand, 
Charms  by  its  music  her  sad  loneliness, 
While  her  thoughts  fly  to  one  forgetting  her, 
Who  treads  the  dust '  neath  which  lives  Roman  pride. 
Of  her,  his  'gentle  Angevin,'  the  soul 
Divine  would  hover  o'er  the  trembling  strings, 
When  her  love's  anguish  clenched  her  troubled  heart; 
Her  voice  gives  to  the  winds,  which  bear  it  far 
And  soothe,  it  may  be,  even  him  untrue, 
The  song  he  made  for  one  who  winnows  grain. 


98 


EPITAPH. 

After  the  verses  of  Henry  III. 

'HPis  here,  O  passer-by,  lies  Hyacinthe, 
1       Who  was  in  life  the  Lord  of  Maugiron; 

He  died, — God  take  him  to  Himself,  forgiven  ! — 

On  honor's  field,  and  lies  in  holy  earth. 

Not  even  Qu61us  better  carried  off 

The  cap  with  pearls  and  plume,  the  plaited  ruff. 

So,  here  you  see  where  a  new  Myron  carved 

A  sprig  of  hyacinth  on  this  death-stone. 

They  dressed  his  hair,  and  Henry,  kissing  him 
Enshrouded,  had  them  bear  to  Saint-Germain 
His  fair  form,  now,  alas !  inert  and  pale; 
And  eager  that  such  mourning  last  for  aye, 
He  had  set  up  this  emblem  in  the  church, 
In  loving  token  of  Apollo's  grief. 


99 


IN  VELLUM,  GILT. 

The  pattern,  Master-Binder,  that  you  worked 
In  gold  on  this  book's  back  and  edges,  lacks 
The  brilliancy  with  which  it  gleamed  at  first, 
However  bold  the  hand  that  pushed  the  tool. 
The  ciphers,  delicately  interlaced, 
Each  day  grow  fainter  on  the  fine,  white  skin; 
My  eyes  can  scarcely  trace  the  ivy  vine, 
Which  winds  upon  the  covers,  in  and  out. 
This  supple,  nigh  transparent  ivory 
Perchance  has  felt  the  fond,  caressing  touch 
Marie,  Diane,  or  Marguerite  once  gave; 
For  this  pale  vellum,  gilt  by  Clovis  £ve, 
Calls  up  by  some  old  charm,  I  know  not  how, 
The  soul  of  perfumes  old  and  shadowy  dreams. 


ioo 


THE  DOGARESSA7v.  ;  _  _  j  j ! '.' ' }  | ■';'  :' 

Beneath  these  marble  porticoes  great  Lords, 
Whom  Titian  painted,  greet,  and  speak,  and  pass; 

Their  massive  collars,  gold  of  ancient  stamp, 

Set  off  the  splendor  of  red  robes  of  state. 

With  eyes  that  glow  with  their  patrician  pride 

They  watch  the  immemorial  lagoons, 

Those  sparkling  depths  of  Adriatic  blue, 

Beneath  the  bright  Venetian  canopy. 

And  while  the  brilliant  throng  of  Cavaliers 
In  purple  and  in  gold  crowd  the  white  stairs, 
The  tender  air  one  flooding  haze  of  blue, 
Aloof,  a  Lady  indolent,  superb, 
Half  turning  in  the  sea  of  her  brocade, 
Smiles  on  the  negro  boy  who  bears  her  train. 


IOI 


j ;  I ,,/    ; ; ,,;    '     PONTE  VECCHIO. 

Antonio  di  Sandro,  Goldsmith. 

Since  matins  the  good  Master-Goldsmith  worked 
With  tongs  from  which  the  enamel  dripped,  to  spread 

The  Latin  mottoes  like  a  flower  o'er 

A  pax,  nielloed,  or  a  clasp  of  gold. 

Upon  the  Bridge,  to  sound  of  silvery  bells, 

Crowded  together  frock,  camail,  and  cape; 

And  through  a  sky  like  deep-stained  glass,  the  sun 

Haloed  the  brows  of  the  fair  Florentines. 

While  quick  to  feel  the  charm  of  ardent  dreams 
The  work-boys,  pensive,  would  forget  to  clasp 
The  hands  of  the  betrothed  upon  the  ring, 
With  graver  tempered  like  a  poniard' s  steel, 
The  young  Cellini,  seeing  naught  else,  cut 
The  Titans'  combat  on  a  dagger-hilt. 


102 


THE  OLD  GOLDSMITH. 

Better  than  any  Master  in  our  book, 
Ruiz  or  Arphe*,  Ximenez,  Becerill, 

Ruby  and  pearl  and  beryl  have  I  set, 

Shaped  the  vase-handle,  hammered  out  the  frieze; 

At  peril  of  my  soul,  painted  or  cut 

In  silver,  or  enamel  iris-hued, 

Instead  of  crucifix  or  saint, — O  shame  ! — 

Bacchuses  drunken,  Danaes  surprised. 

More  than  one  rapier-blade  I've  damascened; 
And  for  my  vain  pride  in  these  works  of  Hell, 
Have  staked  my  share  in    he  Eternal  Life: 
And  now  the  evening  of  my  age  comes  on, 
Like  Fray  Juan  of  Segovia  I  would  die 
With  a  gold  monstrance  as  my  work  in  hand. 


103 


THE  SWORD. 

Trust  me,  good  child,  follow  the  ancient  way: 
A  sword  with  cross-guards  straight  and  branch-wound  hilt, 
Clenched  by  a  man  of  spirit  and  of  power 
Proves  lighter  burden  than  Rome's  ritual. 
Here  !  This  gold  Hercules,  warm  in  your  grasp, 
Grew  polished  in  your  own  forefathers'  hands: 
'Neath  the  bright  surface  all  the  prouder  swell 
The  iron  muscles  of  the  Demigod. 

Brandish  it,  and  the  flexile  steel  will  shower 
Clusters  of  sparks  !     'Tis  firm,  and  such  a  blade 
As  makes  a  proud  man's  heart  to  thrill  with  joy ! 
For  in  the  hollow  of  its  brilliant  gorge, 
As  noble  Dame  a  gem,  it  bears  the  stamp 
Of  Julian  del  Rey,  Prince  of  the  Forge. 


104 


TO  CLAUDIUS  POPELIN. 

On  fragile  glass  held  in  its  frame  of  lead 
The  old-time  masters  painted  high-born  lords, 
And  burghers,  bowing  humble  knees  in  prayer, 
Their  hoods  a-turning  with  their  pious  hands; 
While  on  the  breviary's  yellowed  page 
Another's  art  would  show  'mid  flowers  the  Saints, 
Or  shape  the  quick  and  supple  forms  that  glow 
In  the  swelling  ewer's  arabesques  of  gold. 
Today  their  son  and  rival,  Claudius, 
Like  some  sublime  artificer  revived, 
To  solid  metal  weds  his  genius;  so 
Will  I,  beneath  the  enamel  of  my  rhyme, 
Set  the  green  garland  on  his  glorious  brow, 
The  hero's  laurel,  for  the  time  to  come. 


io5 


ENAMEL. 

The  kiln  and  plaque  are  ready.     Take  thy  lamp : 
Shape  now  the  fiery,  iris-hued  paillon, 
And  on  the  sombre  pigment  fix  with  fire 
The  sparkling  dust  in  which  thy  pencil  dips. 
With  myrtle  or  with  laurel  wilt  thou  gird 
Some  thinker's,  hero's,  prince's,  lover's  brow? 
What  God  shall  make  the  scaly  hydra  rear, 
Or  sea-green  hippocamp,  beneath  black  sky? 
Nay;  rather  draw  in  sapphire  some  proud  face, 
Some  warlike  Maid  of  Ophir,  Bradamant, 
Penthesilea' s,  Aude's,  Thalestris'  head; 
And  make  her  beauty  still  more  terrible 
With  winged  dragon-helmet  o'er  fair  locks, 
And  swelling  golden  gorgon  at  her  breast. 


1 06 


DREAMS  OF  ENAMEL. 

Tonight  the  room  is  dark,  the  furnace  roars; 
The  great  fire,  prisoned  in  the  glowing  bricks, 
Grows  hotter  still;  its  breath  of  magic  makes 
The  copper  'neath  the  enamel  more  than  gold; 
And  from  my  pencils  rise,  live,  run,  take  flight 
The  monstrous  mythologic  folk :  the  Sphinx, 
Centaurs,  Chimaera,  Pan,  the  Orgy's  train, 
The  Gorgon's  race,  Chrysaor,  Pegasus. 
Shall  I  paint  Orpheus  open-armed  to  Her, 
The  Gate  of  Hell,  the  hinge  unyielding,  or 
Penthesilea  and  Achilles'  tears? 
Or  Hercules  and  prostrate  Cerberus, 
Or  the  Maid  writhing  at  the  cavern's  mouth 
And  Dragons  scenting  at  her  anguished  form? 


107 


THE 
CONQUERORS 


THE  CONQUERORS. 

As  gerfalcons  who  leave  their  native  prey, 
Captains  and  men  from  Palos  of  Moguer, 
Weary  of  bearing  their  proud  misery, 
Set  forth,  drunk  with  heroic,  brutal  dreams. 
They  go  to  conquest  of  the  fabled  gold 
Cipango  ripens  in  its  far-off  mines; 
The  trade-winds  strain  the  sloping  yards;  they  sail 
To  shores  of  wonder  in  the  western  world. 
An  epic  morrow  is  each  evening' s  hope. 
The  tropics'  phosphorescent  sea  of  blue 
Enskies  their  dreams  with  a  mirage  of  gold; 
Or  from  the  bow  of  the  white  caravel 
They  watch  and  see  from  out  the  ocean  depths 
New  stars  come  up  and  glow  in  unknown  skies. 


in 


FOUNTAIN  OF  YOUTH. 

Juan  Ponce  de  Leon,  by  Satan  tried, 
Already  full  of  years  and  ancient  lore 
And  seeing  age  turn  white  his  short,  coarse  hair, 
Took  to  the  sea  to  find  the  Springs  of  Health. 
Upon  his  good  "Armada"  three  years  long, 
Haunted  by  dreams,  he  searched  the  sea-green  waste, 
Until  at  last  from  out  Bermudan  fogs 
Loomed  Florida  beneath  enchanted  skies. 
Blessing  his  madness  then,  the  Conqueror 
Planted  his  standard  with  his  feeble  hands 
In  that  bright  land,  that  offered  him  a  tomb. 
Happy  old  man  !  Thy  fortune  such  that  Death 
Despite  thee  made  thy  dream  more  beautiful, 
For  glory  gave  thee  an  immortal  youth. 


112 


THE  CONQUEROR'S  TOMB. 

Beneath  no  flowering  catalpa's  shade, 
Nor  where  white  petals  star  black  tulip-trees, 

Not  in  that  fateful  earth  found  he  his  rest : 

The  conquered  Florida  checked  not  his  march. 

A  common  tomb  was  not  for  such  a  death; 

Shroud  of  the  Conqueror  of  Western  Ind, 

The  Mississippi's  self  enfolded  him; 

No  Redskin  nor  grey  bear  shall  vex  him  more. 
The  virgin  waters  hollowed  his  deep  couch; 
What  needs  there  candle,  psalm,  to  lie  in  state, 
The  votive  offering,  the  monument? 
Does  not  the  North-Wind  through  the  cypresses 
Come  weeping,  singing  an  eternal  prayer 
Above  the  Great  Stream  where  De  Soto  lies? 


113 


CAROLO  QUINTO  IMPERANTE. 

Let  him  be  reckoned  with  the  glorious  dead. 
His  arm  it  was  that  steered  the  first  ship  through 
The  clustered  island  Gardens  of  the  Queen, 
Where  perfumes  load  the  ever-breathing  winds. 
More  than  the  years,  the  waves,  or  stinging  spray, 
The  fiery  calms  of  those  still  seas,  and  too 
His  love  and  fear  of  fabled  siren  charms 
Have  made  his  brown  locks  white  and  white  his  beard. 
Castile  has  triumphed  by  this  man;  her  fleets 
By  him  have  stretched  the  matchless  empire's  bounds 
Until  on  them  the  sun  should  never  set. 
His  name,  Bartolome'  Ruiz,  the  prince 
Of  pilots;  and  his  anns,  the  royal  shield 
Enriched  with  anchor,  black,  and  cable  gold. 


114 


THE  ANCESTOR. 

To  Claudius  Popelin. 

Glory  has  furrowed  with  illustrious  lines 
The  fearless  face  of  this  great  Cavalier; 
Upon  a  never  humbled  brow  is  burned 
The  weathered  tan  of  war  and  torrid  suns. 
On  islands,  main-land,  dry  sierras,  all, 
He  set  the  Cross,  his  fluttering  pennon  known 
From  towering  Andes  to  that  stormy  Gulf, 
Whose  waters  whiten  the  Floridian  shores. 
His  latest  born  descendants,  Claudius, 
See  his  proud  melancholy  live  again 
In  thy  bronze  armor  and  resplendent  lines; 
His  sombre  eyes  seem  still  to  see  in  the  heaven 
Of  thine  enamel's  clear,  metallic  sheen 
The  ancient  glory  of  Castile  of  Gold. 


"5 


TO  THE  FOUNDER  OF  A  CITY.   I. 

Thy  weary  hands,  not  clutching  Ophir  yet, 
Brought  here  and  set  the  royal  standard  up, 
And  founded  on  this  bay's  enchanted  sweep 
Another  Carthage  in  a  land  of  dreams. 
Thou  deemedst  that  thy  name  should  never  die; 
For  hadst  thou  not  cemented  it  for  aye 
In  the  very  blood  and  stone  that  made  thy  walls? 
But,  Soldier,  thy  fond  hope  was  built  on  sand. 
For  Carthagena,  stifling  'neath  her  sky, 
From  her  black  palaces  beholds  thy  wall 
Fall  crumbling  in  the  shore-devouring  sea: 
Yet  on  thy  crest,  O  Conqueror,  still  glows, 
Heraldic  witness  to  thy  splendid  dreams, 
A  city,  argent,  and  a  palm-tree,  or. 


116 


TO  THE  FOUNDER  OF  A  CITY.   II. 

Though  Incas,  Aztecs,  Yaquis,  Andes,  woods, 
Pampas  and  river  were  their  conquest,  yet 

They  left  as  sole  bequest  in  proof  a  name, 

A  title  vain  of  marquis  or  of  count; 

But  thou,  the  glory  of  my  race,  didst  found 

Another  Carthage  by  the  Carib  sea, 

And  win  to  the  Cross  all  the  red  lands  that  stretch 

From  Magdalena  e'en  to  Darien's  stream. 
Upon  her  island  where  the  Ocean  breaks, 
Despite  the  ages,  man,  lightning,  and  winds, 
Thy  city  stands  with  fort  and  convent  still. 
Thy  children  boast  no  trefoil,  ache,  nor  pearl; 
A  city,  argent,  is  upon  their  shield, 
Beneath  a  shading  palm-tree's  branches,  or. 


117 


TO  A  DEAD  CITY. 

Cartagena  de  Indias. 
1532-1583-1697. 

Thou  gloomy  City,  once  the  Ocean's  Queen ! 
Where  the  gigantic  galleons  would  ride, 
The  shark  pursues  the  scombers  undisturbed; 
The  straying  cloud  alone  makes  shadows  there. 
Since  Drake  and  English  miscreants  battered  thee, 
Thy  crumbling  walls  are  but  black,  ruined  heaps, 
And  show,  like  glorious  necklace  of  dark  pearls, 
The  yawning  paths  of  Poinds'  cannon-shot. 
Beneath  a  burning  sky,  by  white-flecked  sea, 
Thou  dreamest  in  the  dull  noon's  sleepy  light, 
O  warrior  City,  of  old  conquerors; 
And  in  thy  passionless,  calm  tropic  night, 
Still  fondly  cherishing  thine  ancient  fame, 
Thou  sleepest '  neath  thy  palm-trees  tremulous. 


118 


THE  ORIENT 

AND 
THE  TROPICS 


THE  VISION  OF  KHEM.   I. 

Noon.     The  air  burns.     The  light  is  terrible. 
The  river  flows  its  languid,  leaden  course. 
Down  from  the  blinding  zenith  falls  the  glare, 
And  o'er  all  Egypt  Phre'  broods,  merciless. 
The  mighty  sphinxes  with  ne'er-drooping  lids, 
Stretched  on  their  sides  bathed  in  the  yellow  sands, 
Pursue  with  looks  of  endless  mystery 
The  great  stone  needles'  measureless  uplift. 

A  sole,  black  spot  in  that  serene,  white  sky 

Far  off,  a  flock  of  vultures,  ever  wheels; 

The  great  flame  soothes  to  sleep  both  men  and  beasts. 

The  hot  earth  crackles;  and  the  God  in  bronze, 

Anubis,  stands  amidst  this  joy  of  heat 

All  motionless,  and,  unheard,  bays  the  sun. 


121 


THE  VISION  OF  KHEM.   II. 

The  round,  resplendent  moon  shines  on  the  Nile. 
The  ancient  city  of  the  dead  is  roused, 
Where  in  the  priestly  pose  each  king  had  lain, 
Wound  with  the  fillet  and  the  coated  cloths. 
Countless  as  in  the  days  of  Rameses, 
A  noiseless  people  forms  the  mystic  train; 
A  multitude,  absorbed  in  dreams  of  stone, 
In  lines  deploys  and  marches  in  the  night. 

They  leave  their  pictured  walls,  the  Bari  borne 
Before  them  by  the  priests  of  Ammon-Ra, 
The  mighty  God,  the  Guider  of  the  Sun. 
Ram-sphinxes,  girt  with  the  vermilion  disk, 
Awaken,  startled  from  their  age-long  sleep, 
And  with  one  bound  are  springing  to  their  feet. 


122 


THE  VISION  OF  KHEM.  III. 

And  still  the  crowd  increases,  numberless; 
The  sombre  hypogaeum's  lines  of  beds 

Are  empty,  and  the  sacred  hawks  have  left 

The  midst  of  the  cartouches  in  new  flight. 

Beasts,  peoples,  kings,  advance,  the  sparkling  gold 

Of  the  uraeus  wound  about  fierce  brows; 

But  thick  bitumen  seals  their  thin-lipped  mouths. 

First,  the  Great  Gods:  Hor,  Knoum,  Ptah,  Hathor,  Neith; 
Then  all  those  led  by  ibis-headed  Thoth, 
In  shenti  clad  and  crowned  with  pschent,  adorned 
With  lotus  blue.     The  wandering  line  winds  on 
In  triumph  by  abhorrent  ruined  shrines; 
The  halls'  cold  pavements  bright  beneath  the  moon, 
With  weird,  colossal  shadows  stretching  far. 


123 


T 


THE  PRISONER. 

To  Gerome. 
he  cries  of  the  muezzins  now  have  ceased. 


Purple  and  gold  fringe  the  green  western  sky; 
The  crocodile  glides  down  to  muddy  rest; 
The  last  sounds  on  the  river  die  away. 
With  legs  crossed,  as  a  smoker  at  his  ease, 
The  chief  was  dreaming,  by  the  hashish  soothed, 
While  on  the  rowers'  seats  the  cangia's  crew, 
Two  naked  blacks,  bent  straining  at  the  oars; 
And  at  the  stern,  of  merry,  mocking  tongue, 
Scraping  the  guzla  to  some  shrill,  wild  tune, 
A  base  and  fierce-eyed  Arnaut  leaned;  for  there 
Lay  bound  and  bleeding  at  his  fetters'  wounds, 
An  old  Sheik,  watching  with  a  dull,  grave  look 
The  minarets  upon  the  rippled  Nile. 


"5 


THE  SAMURAI. 


"It  was  a  man  with  two  swords. 


Answering  her  idle  touch  the  biwa  sounds, 
When  through  the  lattice-work  of  fine  bamboo 
She  sees  the  conqueror  of  her  dreams  of  love 
Draw  near  across  the  dazzling,  level  strand. 
'Tis  he,  with  swords  at  side  and  fan  held  high, 
Girdle  of  red  and  scarlet  tassel,  bright 
On  dark-hued  armor.     On  his  shoulder  gleamed 
Hizen's  or  Tokungawa's  blazonry. 

This  glorious  warrior,  cased  in  plate  and  plaque, 
In  bronze  and  silk  and  brilliant  lacquer,  seemed 
Some  dark  crustacean  monster,  ruddy  scaled. 
He  sees  her,  smiles  behind  his  bearded  mask; 
And,  at  his  quickened  step  the  sunlight  gilds 
The  two  antennae  quivering  on  his  casque. 


126 


THE  DAIMIO. 

The  morning  of  the  battle. 

When  at  the  black,  four- tufted  war- whip's  touch 
The  martial  stallion,  neighing,  rears,  the  swords 
Ring  clanking  as  they  sweep  the  rider's  sides, 
His  bronze  cuirass  against  his  skirt  of  mail. 
The  Chief,  in  lacquer,  brass  and  crepon,  takes 
The  hairy  mask  from  his  smooth  face,  and  sees 
Nippon's  volcano  white,  against  a  sky 
Of  cinnabar,  with  snows  where  smiles  the  Dawn. 
He  saw  in  eastern  skies  all  dashed  with  gold 
The  day-star' s  dazzling  orb  lift  from  the  sea 
Its  glorious  light  on  this  disastrous  morn: 
To  shield  his  eyes,  whose  lids  moved  not  at  all, 
One  gesture  opened  out  the  iron  fan, 
With  red  Sun  rising  on  its  satin's  white. 


127 


FLOWERS  OF  FIRE. 

Ages  of  Chaos  passed,  then  ages  more 
Saw  from  this  crater  torrent  flames  thrown  up, 

And  higher  than  the  Chimborazos  rose 

The  solitary  mountain's  plume  of  fire. 

No  sound  awakens  now  the  unechoing  peak; 

Where  ashes  rained  the  birds  now  quench  their  thirst; 

The  soil  is  motionless;  the  blood  of  Earth, 

The  lava,  rigid  grown,  left  her  at  rest. 
Yet,  supreme  effort  of  the  ancient  fires, 
Upon  this  very  throat's  edge,  chilled  for  aye, 
And  bursting  up  through  rocks  now  turned  to  dust, 
Like  peal  of  thunder  on  the  silent  air, 
Mid  dust  of  golden  pollen  darted  forth, 
The  flower  of  the  cactus  blooms  on  fire. 


128 


CENTURY  FLOWER. 

Upon  the  powdered  rock  of  this  last  slope 
Where  the  volcanic  tide  had  ceased  to  flow, 
A  seed,  wind-borne  to  Gualatieri,  sprouts, 
And,  clutching  earth,  spreads  out,  a  tender  plant. 
It  grows.     From  darkness,  where  its  moist  root  sinks, 
The  stalk  has  drawn  its  draughts  of  hidden  flame; 
In  sunlight  of  a  century  matured, 
The  massive  bud  now  bends  the  flower-stalk. 
Then,  lending  new  fire  to  the  burning  air, 
It  bursts  with  giant  pistil  straight  upheld, 
And  far  the  stamen  darts  the  pollen's  gold; 
So  the  great  aloe  with  the  scarlet  flower 
Dreamed  of  a  wedded  love  a  hundred  years 
To  bloom  at  last  but  for  a  single  day. 


129 


THE  CORAL  REEF. 

The  sunlight  'neath  the  sea  like  some  strange  dawn 
Enfolds  the  coral-trees  of  the  abyss, 
Whose  deep,  warm  basins  show  commingled  there 
The  animal  a  flower,  the  flower  alive. 
And  all  that  salt  or  iodine  has  tinged, 
Moss,  hairy  weed,  urchins,  anemones, 
Spread  the  dull  purple  of  their  sumptuous  forms 
O'er  coral-bottoms  pale,  with  myriad  pores. 

With  scales  more  splendid  than  the  enamel's  blaze, 
A  great  fish  swims  across  the  branches,  slow, 
And  indolent,  through  the  transparent  shades; 
But  suddenly  he  moves  his  fin  of  fire 
An  flashes  through  the  dull,  unmoving  blue 
The  quivering  gold  and  pearl  and  emerald. 


130 


NATURE  AND  DREAM 


ANCIENT  MEDAL. 

Still  ^Etna  grows  the  golden  purple  wine 
Erigone  poured  to  Theocritus; 
But  such  sweet  charms  as  passed  into  his  lines 
The  poet  of  today  would  seek  in  vain. 
Lost  is  the  pure,  divine  profile;  in  turn 
Enslaved  and  fondled,  Arethusa  joins 
To  her  vexed  Grecian  blood  the  burning  rage 
Of  Saracen,  and  Angevin  disdain. 

Time  passes.     All  die.     Marble  wears  away. 

A  dream  is  Agrigentum.     Syracuse 

Sleeps  'neath  the  blue  shroud  of  her  kindly  sky. 

The  metal  hard,  obedient  to  Love's  hand, 

Alone  has  kept  in  deathless,  silvery  bloom 

The  beauty  of  the  maids  of  Sicily. 


133 


THE  FUNERAL  RITES. 

When  olden  warriors  went  their  downward  way, 
Then  toward  illustrious  Phocis,  to  the  shrines 
O'erhung  by  rocky  Pytho,  lightning-girt, 
Greece  followed  forth  their  outward  forms  divine. 
While  night  shone  on  the  radiant  island-seas 
And  lonely  bays,  from  some  clear  headland' s  height 
Their  shades  would  listen  to  the  washing  sea, 
Which  sang  above  their  tombs  on  Salamis. 

But  I  shall  die,  an  old  man,  grieving  long. 

My  body,  nailed  in  narrow  coffin,  laid 

In  purchased  earth  by  priest  with  taper-light; 

And  yet  I  dreamed  to  have  the  glorious  fate 

Of  falling  like  my  fathers  in  the  day, 

Still  young,  mourned  by  strong  mens'  and  maidens'  tears. 


134 


THE  VINTAGE. 

The  tired  vintagers  have  left  their  lines. 
Clear  voices  ring  out  on  the  evening  air; 

The  women  walk  together  toward  the  press 

And  call  and  signal  all  amid  their  songs. 

Such  was  the  sky  when  white  with  flying  swans, 

On  Naxos  smoking  like  a  censer  red, 

The  revel  saw  the  Cretan  sit  beside 

The  Vanquisher  with  vine-blood  overcome. 
No  longer  brandishing  the  thyrsus  bright 
Does  Dionysus  conquer  beasts  and  Gods, 
Nor  bind  the  panthers  with  a  yoke  of  flowers; 
But  Autumn,  daughter  of  the  Sun,  still  twines 
The  blood-stained  vine-branch  of  the  ancient  rites 
With  locks  of  black  and  flowing  hair  of  gold. 


135 


THE  SIESTA. 

No  sound  of  insect  or  marauding  bee: 
Oppressed  with  heat  all  in  the  forest  sleeps. 

Through  leafage  dense  sifts  down  such  mild,  soft  light 

As  bathes  the  velvet  of  the  emerald  moss. 

Resplendent,  wandering  Noon  darts  through  the  dome 

A  beam  upon  my  half-closed,  sleepy  lids, 

A  rosy  net  of  myriad  furtive  lines 

Along,  across,  athwart  the  heated  shade. 

Then  toward  the  fiery  gauze,  shot  through  with  rays, 

Flits  the  frail  swarm  of  rich-hued  butterflies, 

As  if  with  perfume  of  the  sap  and  light 

Made  drunken;  then  my  trembling  fingers  seize 

Each  thread,  and  in  the  fine-meshed  net  of  gold, 

Harmonious  huntsman,  I  hold  fast  my  dreams. 


136 


THE  SEA  OF  BRITTANY 

To  Emmanuel  Lansyer. 


A  PAINTER. 

He  knows  the  thoughtful  eyes,  the  ancient  race, 
Which  treads  the  hard  soil  of  the  Breton  land, 
The  bare,  waste  land,  pink,  gray,  monotonous, 
With  crumbling  manors,  ivy-clad,  and  yews. 
From  high  slopes  planted  with  the  trembling  beech, 
At  close  of  windy  autumn  days  he  views 
The  red  sun  sinking  in  the  white-capped  waves; 
His  lip  has  felt  the  salt  spray  from  the  reefs. 
He  paints  the  splendors  of  the  vast,  sad  sea, 
On  which  the  clouds  reflect  their  amethyst, 
Its  foam  of  emerald  and  its  sapphire  deeps. 
He  stays  the  instant's  water,  air  and  light, 
And  on  his  narrow  canvas  makes  the  sands 
Repeat  the  glories  of  the  western  sky. 


139 


BRITTANY. 

That  merry  blood  may  rule  the  spirit' s  gloom, 
Let  breath  from  the  Atlantic  fill  thy  lungs, 
Loaded  with  perfume  of  the  salt  sea -weed; 
Arvor  bids  thee  to  capes  by  white  seas  sprayed. 
The  furze  is  blooming  now,  the  heather  pink; 
The  land  of  ancient  clans,  of  sprites  and  dwarfs, 
Still  keeps  for  thee,  my  friend,  its  granite  hills, 
Unchanging  man  among  the  changeless  things. 
Come  see  Arez  in  all  her  waste  lands  lift 
To  mournful  skies  her  cypress  undecayed, 
Her  Menhirs  raised  above  the  buried  brave. 
The  sea  that  rocks  in  bed  of  golden  weeds 
Voluptuous  Is  and  Occismor  the  Great 
Shall  soothe  thy  sad  heart  with  its  murmurings. 


140 


FLORIDUM  MARE. 

The  harvest  overflows  the  checkered  plain, 
Rolls,  undulates,  and  breaks  in  swaying  winds; 
The  harrow's  profile  'gainst  the  distant  sky 
A  pitching  ship' s  with  bowsprit  black,  high  raised ; 
And  at  my  feet  the  sea  to  the  purple  west 
One  growing  meadow  infinitely  great, 
Cerulean,  violet,  perse,  pink,  or  white 
With  waves  that  die  upon  the  ebbing  tide. 
The  gulls  that  follow  with  the  flowing  sea 
Scream  joyously  as  they  fly  wheeling  toward 
The  ripened  grain,  whose  golden  surges  swell; 
While  from  the  land  a  honeyed  breeze  bears  o'er 
The  flowery  ocean  swarms  of  butterflies, 
Disporting  in  their  winged  wantonness. 


141 


SETTING  SUN. 

The  brilliant  furze,  the  granite's  ornament. 
Gilds  the  rough  summit  lighted  by  the  west; 
Far  off,  still  gleaming  with  its  line  of  foam, 
The  endless  sea  begins  where  ends  the  land. 
Below  me  night  and  silence;  nests  are  still; 
All  now  at  home,  the  cottage  smoke  ascends; 
Alone  the  Angelus  sounds  through  the  mist, 
Blending  its  note  with  the  vast  ocean-tones. 
Then,  as  if  from  the  depths  of  an  abyss, 
From  trails,  ravine,  and  moors  come  far-off  calls 
Of  shepherds,  leading  home  belated  flocks. 
The  whole  horizon  sinks  in  shadow  now, 
For  on  the  darkening  sky  the  dying  sun 
Has  closed  the  golden  rays  of  his  red  fan. 


142 


MARIS  STELLA. 

In  linen  head-dress  all  with  folded  arms, 
Clad  in  coarse  woolen  or  in  thin  percale, 
The  women  kneel  upon  the  bare  cove-rock, 
And  watch  the  ocean  dashing  white  on  Batz. 
The  men,  sons,  lovers,  fathers,  husbands,  there 
With  those  Paimpol,  Audierne,  Cancale  had  joined, 
Had  sailed  on  the  far  voyage  to  the  north; 
Bold  fishermen,  how  many  come  not  back ! 
Above  the  sounds  of  ocean  and  of  shore 
Rises  the  plaintive  chant,  invoking  clear 
The  Holy  Star,  the  imperilled  sailor's  hope;    . 
And  each  tanned  face  is  bowed  as  the  Angelus 
From  RoscofPs  belfries  to  far  Sybiril's 
Goes  ringing,  dying' neath  the  paler  sky. 


143 


THE  BATH. 

Such  forms  as  were  the  Centaurs',  man  and  beast 
Are  in  the  sea,  unbridled,  naked,  free, 
'Neath  flaming  skies  amid  the  golden  mist 
Of  the  sharp  spray,  —  a  sculptor's  sinewy  group. 
The  untamed  steed  and  rustic  trainer  both 
Draw  full  their  lungs  in  that  salt-scented  air, 
And  feel  with  joy  the  rough  Atlantic  dash 
Its  icy  waters  'gainst  their  skin  and  mane. 
The  surges  rise  and  rush  on  in  a  wall, 
And  break.     He  shouts.     The  neighing  horse's  tail 
Strikes  the  blue  water,  splashing  dazzlingly. 
Rearing  with  hair  wild-flying  in  the  blue, 
They  thrust  the  black  and  steaming  breast  to  meet 
The  thousand  lashes  of  the  fuming  tide. 


144 


CELESTIAL  BLAZONRY. 

At  times  I  have  seen  on  heaven's  azure  field 
The  clouds  of  silver,  purple,  and  of  red 
Paint  the  celestial  window  of  the  west 
With  one  wide  blazonry  no  eye  could  bear. 
Supporters,  crest,  creatures  of  heraldry, 
The  leopard,  unicorn,  eglet,  or  snake, 
Captive  cloud-giants  whom  a  gust  would  free, 
With  figures  lifted  high  and  arching  breasts. 
In  those  strange  combats  in  the  fields  of  space 
When  the  black  Seraphs  with  Archangels  strove, 
Some  George  or  Michael,  warrior  of  the  skies, 
Some  mighty  Prince  of  Heaven  won  this  shield, 
Like  theirs  by  whom  Constantinople  fell, 
A  sun,  gold  besant,  o'er  a  sea  of  green. 


145 


ARMOR. 

As  guide  to  Raz  Trogor  had  furnished  me 
A  hairy  shepherd  like  some  old  Evhage; 
And  now  we  tread,  breathing  its  fragrance  wild, 
That  rugged  Cymric  land  where  grows  the  broom. 
The  west  was  reddening;  we  were  walking  on, 
When  suddenly  I  felt  the  briny  blast; 
And  the  man  stood;  and  pointing  with  long  arm 
O'er  the  dull  landscape,  said:   "Sell  euz  ar-mor!" 
And  I  on  tip-toe  on  the  rosy  heath, 
Beheld  the  vast  resplendent  Ocean  dash 
Its  green  salt  waves  against  the  cape's  dark  rocks; 
And  there  as  the  horizon's  void  still  moved 
To  west  in  evening's  light,  my  full  heart  knew 
The  fearless  joy  of  winds  and  boundless  space. 


146 


RISING  TIDE. 

Penmarc'h  to  Raz,  the  whole  coast  lies  in  mist; 
The  sun  seems  but  a  fixed,  white  beacon-light. 
Alone  the  wandering  gulls  still  breast  the  wind, 
That  brushes  back  their  plumage  as  they  fly. 
With  furious  onset  in  succession  due 
The  deep-green  waves  beneath  their  crests  of  foam 
Come  thundering  to  burst  in  scattered  spray, 
Like  watery  plumes  above  the  dripping  reefs. 
And  I  too  let  the  tides  of  my  thought  flow, 
Dreams,  hopes,  regrets,  of  my  expended  strength, 
That  leave  me  only  bitter  memories. 
The  voice  of  Ocean  is  a  brother's,  for 
The  clamoring  water' s  ever-lifted  cry 
Is  man's  to  the  Gods,  in  vain  eternally. 


147 


SEA  BREEZE. 

The  winter  spares  no  flower  of  heath  or  yard. 
Death  everywhere;  and  gray  is  all  the  rock, 

On  which  the  Atlantic  waves  break  ceaselessly. 

The  faded  petal '  neath  its  pistil  droops. 

And  yet  a  delicate  aroma  comes, 

Borne  landward  on  the  wind,  so  softly  breathed 

It  fills  my  heart  with  an  unwonted  joy. 

From  what  land  hast  thou  wandered,  strange  perfume? 
I  know  it  now,  wafted  three  thousand  leagues 
From  yonder  shore  where  the  Antilles  blue 
Faint  'neath  the  glowing  of  the  western  star: 
And  I,  on  this  wave-beaten  Cymric  coast, 
Have  caught  the  fragrance  of  my  native  air 
From  flowers  that  bloom  in  far  America. 


148 


THE  CONCH. 

IN  what  cool  seas,  how  many  winters  through,  — 
What  man  shall  ever  know,  frail,  pearly  conch? 
Have  rolling  waves  and  currents  and  the  tides 
Been  rocking  thee  in  green  abysmal  depths? 
Today,  far  from  the  salt  and  ebbing  tide 
Thy  bed  is  yellow  sands  beneath  the  sky; 
But  vain  thy  hope !     The  great  voice  of  the  seas, 
Long  and  despairing,  groans  within  thee  still. 
A  sounding  prison  has  my  soul  become, 
And  as  in  thy  recesses  the  long  plaint 
Of  ancient  murmurings  still  weeps  and  sighs, 
So  in  its  depths  my  heart,  too  full  of  Her,t 
Resounds  with  echoes  of  the  far-off  storm, 
Dull,  vague,  and  slow,  and  yet  to  last  for  aye. 


149 


THE  BED. 

Whether  its  hanging  be  brocade  or  serge, 
Sad  as  a  tomb  or  merry  as  a  nest, 
There  man  is  born,  there  rests,  and  there  unites, 
Child,  husband,  in  old  age,  married  or  maid. 
With  holy  sprinkling  wedded  couch  or  Death's, 
Beneath  black  crucifix  or  blessed  branch, 
There  all  commences,  there  all  has  its  end, 
From  our  first  dawn  to  our  last  candle's  flame. 
Close,  lowly,  rustic,  or  with  tester  proud 
Painted  triumphally  with  red  and  gold, 
Be  it  of  maple,  cypress,  or  rough  oak; 
Happy  who  sleeps  without  remorse  or  fear 
In  the  ancestral,  venerable  bed, 
Where  his  own  kindred  found  their  life  and  death ! 


150 


THE  EAGLE'S  DEATH. 

When  he  has  left  below  the  eternal  snows, 
The  eagle's  mighty  wings  seek  higher  air, 
A  sunlight  nearer  in  a  brighter  sky, 
Kindling  new  splendors  in  his  savage  eyes; 
Rising  he  breathes  in  floods  of  sparkling  air, 
And  higher  still  he  wings  his  proud,  slow  flight, 
Drawn  to  the  storm-cloud  by  the  lightning's  gleam, 
When,  with  one  flash,  both  pinions  are  struck  through. 
Screaming,  swept  onward  by  the  whirling  storm, 
He  drinks  convulsively  the  air  of  flame, 
And  plunges  to  the  abyss  of  crackling  fire. 
What  fortune  his,  whom  Fame  or  Freedom  bids, 
In  pride  of  strength  and  boundless  dream's  desire, 
To  happiness  of  such  brief,  dazzling  death ! 


151 


PLUS  ULTRA. 

Though  men  have  conquered  all  the  burning  lands 
Where  lions,  poisonous  beasts,  and  reptiles  roam, 
And  vexed  the  Ocean  where  the  Nautilus 
Sails  the  gold  courses  of  old  galleons, 
Beyond  the  snow,  beyond  the  maelstrom's  gulf, 
Beyond  Spitzbergen's  awful  barrenness, 
The  sluggish  polar  sea  still  beats  on  isles, 
Where  never  mariner  has  raised  his  flag. 

Come  with  me !     We  will  crush  through  pathless  ice, 

For  I  am  weary  in  my  strength  to  bear 

The  easy  fame  of  conqueror  of  gold; 

And  I  will  go,  will  scale  the  farthest  cape, 

And  seek  some  undiscovered  silent  sea 

To  win  for  pride  one  more  caress  of  fame. 


J52 


THE  LIFE  OF  THE  DEAD. 

To  the  Poet  Armand  Silvestre. 

When  Earth^shall  take  us  both  unto  itself, 
And  over  us  they  set  the  sombre  cross, 

Thy  body  shall  inform  the  lily's  snow, 

My  flesh  shall  live  within  the  sanguine  rose. 

The  god-like  Death  thou  saw'st  in  his  black  flight, 

Shrouded  in  silence  and  oblivion, 

Shall  lull  us  gently  as  we  move  through  Heaven 

On  our  enchanted  way  to  newer  stars. 
And  rising  to  the  sun,  his  fire  of  life 
Shall  take  our  blending  spirits  to  its  waves 
And  deathless  happiness  in  its  great  flames; 
While  with  the  sacred  name  of  poet-friends 
Glory  shall  crown  with  her  immortal  fame 
Our  shades  among  the  Brothers  of  the  Lyre. 


153 


TO  THE  TRAGEDIAN  E.   ROSSI. 

On  hearing  him  render  words  of  Dante. 

I  have  seen  thee,  Rossi,  in  thy  black  cloak  sweep 
To  crush  Ophelia's  weak  and  suffering  heart, 

And  like  a  maddened  tiger  in  thy  love 

Stifle  thy  sobs  in  the  dread  handkerchief. 

Thou  wast  Macbeth  and  Lear;  I  wept  to  see 

Thee  kiss,  last  lover  of  old  Italy, 

The  pallid  Juliet  at  the  nuptial  tomb; 

But  thou  wast  one  night  still  more  terrible. 
For  horror  and  excess  of  joy  sublime 
Were  mine  when  first  I  heard  the  iron  blasts 
Of  triple  rhyme  made  golden  by  thy  voice; 
All  lighted  red  by  the  infernal  flame 
I  saw,  — and  trembled  in  my  inmost  soul — 
The  living  Dante  tell  the  tale  of  Hell. 


154 


MICHELANGELO. 

What  tragical  unrest  he  felt,  alone 
Within  the  Sistine,  far  from  feasting  Rome, 
Painting  the  Sibyls  and  the  Prophets  there 
And  the  Last  Judgment  on  the  sombre  wall ! 
He  heard  within  him,  weeping  unconsoled,  — 
Chained  to  the  heights,  a  Titan  in  desire, — 
Country  and  Love,  Glory  and  their  defeats, 
And  saw  that  all  things  die,  all  dreams  deceive. 
For  him  these  Giants  writhe  their  heavy  forms, 
Mightily,  wearily,  in  bloodless  strength, 
These  Slaves  held  fast  in  the  unyielding  stone. 
His  proud  soul  in  the  marble  seems  to  boil 
When  at  his  touch  it  feels  the  thrilling  life, 
Wrath  of  a  God  whom  Matter  overcomes. 


155 


ON  A  BROKEN  STATUE. 

The  moss  has  closed  the  dull  eyes  piously, 
For  they  would  seek  in  vain  in  this  wild  wood 
A  maiden  who  should  pour  the  wine  and  milk 
Upon  the  fair-named  land  whose  bounds  he  marked. 
Viburnum,  hop,  and  ivy  wind  today 
About  this  ruined  God,  nor  know  if  he 
Were  Pan,  Silvanus,  Hermes,  or  a  Faun, 
And  wreathe  his  battered  brow  with  their  own  green. 
See  how  the  slanting  rays,  caressing  still, 
Have  in  this  flat-nosed  face  set  two  gold  orbs ! 
There  like  two  ruddy  lips  the  wild  vine  laughs; 
And,  miracles  of  motion,  murmuring  winds, 
Leaves,  shifting  shadow,  and  the  moving  sun 
Of  ruined  marble  make  a  living  God ! 


156 


PRINTED  FROM  TYPE  BY 
JAMES  ALBERT  COOK  AT 
BRUNSWICK,  MAINE,  IN  THE 
MONTH         OF         MAY,        MCMX 


DIVERSITY  OJ^^ 

Vitrh  borrowed. 

This  book  is  DUE  on 


SO*'***" 


^* 


* 


REC'D  UO 

iUL  1 W  ■•  Al 


"70  W 


0At9&      DEC  20  1 


^T&* 


wtt^s«wr 


il6)476 


YB  54188 


■HH^HHIHI 


646639 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


v00* 


